More Than Just a Summer Fling
by Jade-Tessier
Summary: CHAPTER 7 FINALLY UP! It's 2005 and Logan Cale has just returned from one of the greatest and most hellish summers of his life. Will he be able to survive the year without seeing or knowing where the girl he fell in love with is?
1. Heavy Clouds and Happier Times

**More Than Just a Summer Fling   
By Jade**   
  
**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I don't own Dark Angel. If I did, the show would still be alive and kickin'. But, for once, one of the characters in the story, Heather, is mine even though she's based on my best friend, also named Heather...but we'll not get started with that.   
  
**Time Frame:** Total AU, 2005, Pulse hasn't happened yet, and Max isn't a biosynth.   
  
**Summary:** It's 2005 and Logan Cale has just returned from one of the greatest and most hellish summers of his life. Will he be able to survive the year without seeing or knowing where the girl he fell in love with is?   
  
**Author's Note:** Got this idea in Human Geography of all places *eyebrow action*. This is inspired by (but doesn't really fit) a challenge off of DAR which was a character telling about their summer vacation.   
  
**TO ALL THOSE ASKING ME ABOUT THE AGE! READ MY AUTHOR'S NOTE RIGHT HERE:** I know, I know, Max and Logan's age gap had kinda decreased; it was done _intentionally!_   
  
Thanks to **Amanda**, **Lanna**, and **Elisha**, my awesome betas who have spent so much time correcting my noun of direct addresses and spelling errors!   
  
**Music suggestion when reading sad parts of fic:** "Roads" by Portishead. : )   
  
  
**One - Heavy Clouds and Happier Times**   
  
  
  
The heavy clouds overhead boomed as rain continued to pour out of them like faucets on full power. _Great,_ he thought. _Weather to match my mood._ It was the worst way to start the school year: rainy and wet. Rain droplets streamed down the car's body as he pulled into one of the last remaining parking spaces in the packed lot. Logan killed the life of the car, grabbed his companion in the passenger seat, and slung it on his shoulder.   
  
As he stepped out of his car, the rain slipped down his back, welcoming his face with wet kisses. Sighing, he started the long trek across the sea of cement to the place he dreaded the most, Seattle High School. Once he stepped though those doors, he would have to say goodbye to the happenings of the past two months and move onward to new things and new people. But no matter what he did or how much he tried, Logan couldn't get her out of his mind. She had been locked in his brain ever since he had first laid his eyes on her.   
  
  
  
_'Yes! Finally some time away from Jonas, Margot, and Bennett's clingy girlfriend.'   
  
Logan walked through the doors of the bookstore only to be bombarded with the smell of new books waiting to read and fresh coffee waiting to be drunk. He inhaled the scents he knew and loved and made a beeline to the blank book section. He had so many things to capture in Los Angeles: poems, ideas, thoughts, memories. It was a tradition he had started several years ago during his first summer in LA, when his parents dumped him at his dreaded Uncle Jonas and Aunt Margot's own corporate hell while they jetted off to god-knows-where.   
  
Logan walked down the aisle, closely examining each book. He wanted one that was perfect for this summer. His eyes rested on a bright pink journal riddled with flowers. 'No, too girly.' His eyes jumped onto a screaming red one. 'Nope, too bright.' He lifted up a small leather journal and opened the cover to look at the price tag. 'Way too expensive.'   
  
His sharp, blue eyes scanned the shelves further until they stopped on a solitary, black, cloth-covered journal with a rounded spine. A smile spread on his face. 'Perfect.' As he reached over to grab it, his hand collided with another hand, sending volts of electricity coursing throughout his body. They both jumped back, both feeling the surge of power, dropped the journal on the floor, and looked at each other with shocked looks on their faces. He stopped in his tracks.   
  
'Oh my god.'   
  
The hand had belonged to a girl with crazy, chestnut curls slightly framing her face with warm, brown eyes blazing. Her lips were a little pouty and full of a red hue no man could ever reproduce, no matter how hard he tried. 'Wow.'   
  
The girl scowled at him with fiery eyes. "I had it first."   
  
Her voice slapped him out of his thoughts with its intensity. "W-what?" 'Way to go Cale, can't even say one word in front of her!'   
  
"I had it first, so don't even try taking it from me. If you do, I'll scream bloody murder so loud your grandparents can hear it. Got it?"   
  
  
  
"Max!" An older girl walked up to her and put her arm around Max's shoulders. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you! I tried to send you some vibes, but I guess they weren't strong enough." The older girl chuckled inwardly at some joke Logan didn't know. She eyed the two of them standing next to each other, Max with her typical angry eyes, and a rather handsome, dumbfounded stranger gawking at her sister. An unreadable look passed her face. "I just found the greatest dream book on the planet... Come on, I'll show you."   
  
She steered Max out of the aisle, leaving Logan standing there, stunned. 'Max, huh?'   
  
He grabbed a blue cloth journal similar to the black one and ran out of the aisle. 'Now where do they put the books about dreams...'   
  
Logan walked to the focal point of the bookstore and looked up and down each aisle, only to find old or middle-aged people looking at sad books about quick weight loss and chicken soup. He looked down the last aisle and found her talking to the older girl, probably a friend or older sister. "What do you mean 'What sexual tension?' He was completely hung up on you, baby sister. I was starting to go blind with all the looks he was giving you!"   
  
Max tried to open her mouth in rebuttal, but her sister cut her off again. "Remember, Max, denial gets you nowhere. Accepting that you like him is the first step."   
  
Logan casually walked up and opened a random book he had pulled from the shelf. He cleared his throat and they both turned around. Startled, Max's face turned bright red and she tried to run, but her sister stopped her and murmured something he couldn't pick up. Max's sister retreated out of the aisle, giving her a little look that said, "If you back out of this one, I will hurt you."   
  
"You're gonna pay for this one, Heather!"   
  
Heather's laugh floated down another aisle. "I always seem to, don't I?"   
  
Logan laughed softly as Max turned to face him.   
  
"Logan Cale." He extended his hand out cordially, but she made no effort to take it.   
  
"Are you sure it isn't Stalker?" she quipped, her tone laced with sarcasm.   
  
Logan cocked his head and stroked his chin. "No... No. Well, last time I checked it wasn't, but I could be wrong."   
  
She looked at his book and raised an eyebrow. "_How to Read Your Sex Dreams_?"   
  
Logan's face turned red as he looked at the book he had randomly grabbed. Max burst out laughing; Logan shoved the book in an empty space. 'Great impression, Cale, just great! I'm never gonna live that one down..'   
  
"I was wondering," he started, scrambling to recover from his embarrassing mishap, "what are you doing right now? There's this great little café on Sa-"   
  
Max cut him off, angry and offended, "Don't hit on me! I don't like you! Don't you get that? I don't! If it weren't for you, I'd be outta here and on the strip with my sister! But nooooo, you just had to choose the same journal as I did, bump into me, and follow me!"   
  
"Max, hear me out." He could feel her slowly slipping away from him.   
  
"So how often do you hit on girls younger than you?" she snapped bitterly. "Because seriously, if you think I'm one of those girls you use as arm jewelry, think again."   
  
Max turned around in a huff and started to look for Heather. She needed some air.   
  
"Max." Logan reached forward and grabbed her arm.   
  
Max spun around, her face inches from his. She could feel his minty breath and the slight scent of laundry soap radiating from his body. Her hardened expression softened a little as she looked into his sparkling, blue eyes on a face seasoned with stubble. Her mind suddenly went blank and the rebuttal for whatever he was about to say flew out her brain.   
  
"I never hit on anyone unless they're really worth it." He moved in a little closer, letting her cherry scent drown his senses. "How about that café?"   
  
"She would love to!" a voice yelled from the aisle behind them.   
  
Max groaned and tried her best to put on a scowl, but a smile kept creeping on her face. "Heather, don't expect a birthday present for a couple years!" she shouted over the bookcase, only to be answered with fits of laughter.   
  
Logan straightened and held out his arm in a gentlemanly fashion. "Shall we?"   
  
"I don't exactly have a choice, now do I?" Max brushed past him and headed for the cashier's, leaving Logan standing there.   
  
Max turned on her heel to face him once again and put her hand on her hip. "Come on, Mr. Stalker, I hafta pay before we blaze!"   
  
Logan smiled curtly and followed her with his journal in hand. 'This is gonna be one helluva summer.'   
  
  
  
_ Logan walked through the doors of Seattle High School and was immediately hit by cold air.   
  
_School air conditioning... Ugh._   
  
As he walked farther into school, he felt the warm aura of summer slip away. He turned to face the door, feeling the memories the summer dash towards back into the rain. Sighing, he walked to his locker.   
  
_So it begins._


	2. Caffe Latte with a Shot of Acting

**Disclaimer:** Too bad for me, I don't own Dark Angel. I own Heather the character, but not the real Heather... *snaps fingers* damn.   
  
**Time Frame:** Total AU, 2005. No Pulse and no Manticore!   
  
**Author's Note:** The poem that Logan writes is a version of a poem I wrote entitled "the café scene."   
  
**ATTENTION TO ALL THOSE WHO IGNORED THE AUTHOR'S NOTE LAST CHAPTER: IN MY LITTLE FIC, MAX WAS BORN IN 1990, LOGAN IN 1988. YOU DO THE MATH!**   
  
**Many Thanks to:** Cuthien, RubyStar, lr, Lanna, Winking Tiger, bo, Dark Phanton, _Phoenix_, beth, bastgoddess, mackenzie karls, natters, Sea Siren, and waaaayyy out to my forum friend MLFan!   
Tell me what you think of this chapter: was it horrendously corny, was it good, did it make you laugh because it was so stupid? Let me know!   
  
  
**Two - Caffe Latte with a Shot of Acting**   
  
  
  
Max stood outside under the thin protection of a cheap, plastic umbrella her mother had shoved in her hands as rain poured around her. Lately her mother had been doing a lot to help her out, but Max didn't know why. But of course she did; her mother was the one who had pulled the carpet out from under her, sending Max back to the mundane earth early. Maybe the guilt was finally getting to her mother?   
  
No matter what, it had happened. It was over with. It had passed... But she still couldn't stop the image of his face coming back into her mind. He was stuck there. Max had tried countless ways to chase away his breathtaking blue eyes and that spiky brown hair she wanted to just run her fingers through...   
  
_No, Max, you promised yourself you wouldn't think of him. You promised yourself-_   
  
She choked on her thought as a lump formed in her throat.   
  
_Oh God, not again..._   
  
Max took a deep breath and dropped the umbrella onto the sidewalk. She tilted her head skyward and closed her eyes, letting the rain stream down her face, taking her tears with them.   
  
_Wash me away; just wash me away._   
  
A horn honked behind her, making Max jump. She turned around to see Heather in the front seat of the car with her engine running, gesturing for Max to get into the car. Max smiled through her tears and walked towards the car. Heather unlocked the doors, letting Max put her stuff inside.   
  
"You didn't think you were gonna take that rickety old bus on your first day of high school, did ya?" Heather pulled away from the curb and headed towards the high school.   
  
"Well, Mom just kinda shoved me out the door this morning. I think she's still kinda upset at me."   
  
"For what? Falling in love with a great guy who loves you back?"   
  
Max swallowed the ever-growing lump in her throat. "Loved."   
  
"Oh, come on! Do you seriously believe that just because you have no idea where he lives and were dumb enough not to tell him that we live in Seattle, that he's gonna stop loving you?"   
  
"That makes me feel so much better, Heather," Max said, her voice stained with sarcasm. "Thank you."   
  
Heather disregarded her comment and went on, "I could see it in his eyes, Max. Even before you staged that little stunt at the café. He'll love you no matter what. Got it?"   
  
Max looked at Heather in awe. "How did you know we were acting?"   
  
"I have powers." Heather tapped her forehead with her index finger, making Max laugh. "She laughed! Stop the presses, call the White House, oh, and can't forget _The New York Times_- Maxie actually laughed!" Heather chuckled to herself and looked fondly over at her sister, only to see her lost in her own thoughts.   
  
With that, the car became silent once again.   
  
  
  
_Max closed her eyes and inhaled the flavors of the little café. Why hadn't she found this place before? She and her family had come summer upon summer to Los Angeles to "get away from Seattle." Over the years, she and Heather had found almost every good place to go- or so she thought. She slowly opened her eyes and glanced across the little wooden table at Logan who was scribbling away in his new journal. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes seemed to be lost in thought completely. His fingers and pen moved swiftly, as if he was composing a great masterpiece. She found herself staring at him, unable to tear herself from his form. 'What's wrong with me? I don't like him. I don't like him. I don't like him... God, he's cute when he's thinking... Stop it Max! What are you doing? He's a...a... a jerk! Yeah, that's it... And ah, you don't wanna date a jerk!'   
  
The ringing of the café door's bell ruptured her out of her logic. She looked up at the person walking in and put her head in the hand. 'Heather... are you stalking me? Well, Sis, lemme tell you this: two can play this game.' A smirk grew on her face, but she quickly wiped it off. 'Lights, camera, action!'   
  
Max got out of her seat, walked behind Logan and leaned over his shoulder, reading the poem he had just written.   
  
  
sitting  
in a crowded  
institution for  
mass production   
  
  
drinking the purity  
of the night and  
reading last   
week's paper  
reading things that   
  
  
haven't been   
regurgitated  
50 times on   
cnn this week  
  
  
unearthing my pen   
and journal starting to fill  
the pages with  
  
  
thoughts about  
the couple sitting  
in the back   
corner and the  
  
  
eccentric man   
who keeps asking   
for ketchup  
even though  
they don't have it  
  
  
telling their  
odd blissful stories  
  
  
before i even say hello  
and peer deeper  
into their souls  
  
"Drinking the purity of the night and reading last week's paper, huh?" she said, right next to his ear.   
  
He jumped and turned to face her. "God, Max, you scared the shi-"   
  
"My sister's here watching us," she whispered bluntly. "I have an idea-"   
  
Logan dropped his pen in his journal, took her head in his hands and erased the space between them.   
  
Whatever she was going to say had just gotten on a plane and flown to Singapore. All that could get through her head was that his lips were on hers. 'Act, Max, act!' she managed to say to herself. She returned the kiss, to his shock, sliding her hands into his spiky brown hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in closer onto his lap.   
  
Max's emotions went into overdrive. She lost any conscious thought in her mind, forgetting where she was or that her sister was watching them had left too. The only thing she knew was that she loved having Logan's lips colliding with hers. She could feel a little bit of his stubble brush against her face, forcing her to smile. She was flying up to cloud nine and she could see Logan...   
  
"Ahem."   
  
Logan and Max quickly pulled their faces away from each other, looking at the owner of the "ahem," a café waitress.   
  
"Hello, my name is Courtney, what can I get you two today?" she spouted off, happily for someone who had just interrupted something marvelous, even if it wasn't real.   
  
"How bout some privacy?" Logan mumbled under his breath.   
  
Max, hearing his complaint, started to laugh and leaned her head on his chest. Logan started to laugh himself, the vibration in his chest humming against her ear.   
  
"Excuse me, sir?" the waitress asked, rather confused. He had obviously said something in reply to her question, but she didn't catch it.   
  
"Ah, nothing. Could we have one black coffee and..." Logan, with his arms still around Max's waist, turned to her and said, "What would you like to drink, honey?"   
  
Max straightened. "Honey?" she said through her teeth with a tense smile on her face.   
  
Logan leaned forward, inches away from her ear. Her cherry scent took him over once again, making it hard not to lean in and kiss her ear.   
  
"Play along. Don't tell me that you weren't going to have me do the same thing if I hadn't interrupted you."   
  
Logan's breath tickled her ear, making her shiver. 'How can you let him do this to you? This hasn't happened before! Remember, I'm a cynical bitch, I'm a cynical bitch, I'm a cynical bitch...'   
  
Max leaned closer to Logan's ear and whispered harshly, "Aiight, but you owe me for this one, large!"   
  
She pulled her head back and turned to face the waitress, her curls lightly brushing his face. "I'll have a cappuccino, extra foam please."   
  
Logan shot her a funny look as the waitress repeated their order and left.   
  
"What?"   
  
"Extra foam? Is that why you're always so moody?"   
  
"No, I just like the foam," she pouted, making Logan laugh.   
  
Max tried to get off Logan's lap and back to her seat, but Logan pulled her in quickly, tipping them backwards onto the floor. He tightened his grip around her waist and pulled her closer. Max whipped her head around to face Logan as the chair hit the floor with a loud crash. People's head snapped around at the sound the crash, all eyes locked on Max on top of Logan, their faces just inches away from each other, sparks flying.   
  
"Are you two okay?" Courtney asked, coffee in hand.   
  
Max slowly stood up and pulled Logan up with her. She brushed off her shorts and took a deep breath. Logan wrapped his hands around her waist and hugged her.   
  
"You all right, sweetheart?" he cooed.   
  
"I'm all right as long as you're all right, honey," she shot back. She looked up into his eyes, smiling sincerely, and lightly kissed his nose.   
  
"How bout that coffee?"   
  
A smile spread on his face. "I'd love to." _   
  



	3. Hello, My Name is Logan, and I Have a Pr...

**Disclaimer:** Too bad for me, I don't own Dark Angel. I do own Heather, Sara, Lauren, and Mrs. Woodman.   
  
**Time Frame:** Total AU, 2005. No Pulse, no Manticore, no virus, no breeding cult psychos! Yay!   
  
**Author's Note:** Thanks for all the awesome reviews: Winking Tiger, Sea Siren, WildGirl, hay25, bastgoddess, noor, and CharmedOneJayme! **You guys rock my socks!**   
  
After you're finished reading this, click the little 'Go' button and tell me what you think. Was it horrendously corny, was it good, did it make you laugh because it was so stupid? Let me know!   
  
  
  
**Three - Hello, My Name is Logan, and I Have a Problem**   
  
  
  
The morning had gone by in a blur. People came, people went, and somehow, he had managed to get to his classes despite his perpetual state of sadness and longing. Teachers gabbed on and on about curriculum, grades, rules... it was a broken record each class period, only changed by different people and teachers' outfits.   
  
His classes were boring as usual. Most of them were business classes his father wanted him to take to prepare for becoming a partner in the family business, Cale Industries. But, unbeknownst to his father, Logan had no intention to join the family business. In fact, he wanted nothing to do with it. Going to cocktail party after cocktail party and seeing Uncle Jonas every day until Jonas checked in to that big company in the sky was not his idea of living life to the fullest. Of course, his father didn't really seem to care about that. The only thing that mattered was Logan taking his place when he passed away.   
  
Logan had managed to slip a creative writing class under his father's radar with a little help from his mother. His mother had signed the final paper, giving consent to his schedule, while his father was on a "business trip." Most likely he, Jonas, and some other stuffy executives were smoking cigars and drinking Bloody Marys and vodka until they all wound up drunk and slurring around a piano.   
  
Logan was closest to his mother, since they both shared a passion for writing. Before she had married his father, Elise Coeur was a well-known novelist. She wanted to pass it on to her son, despite her husband's disapproval.   
  
When Logan was younger, he could remember hearing their yelling as the moon and the stars slowly faded from the sky. His mother wanted him to be an author, while his father wanted him to be a businessman. And Logan? Well, he just wanted to save the world. When he was seven, he told his mother that he wanted to be just like Superman and save people. His mother smiled and put her hands on either side of his head.   
  
"Someday, Logan, someday."   
  
He walked into his first afternoon class and sat in a random desk. The walls were loitered with posters of Shakespeare, Robert Frost, Ernest Hemingway… the list could've gone on for days. Jazz music played from an unknown source, trumpets wailing and pianos beating out their souls. Half-healed wounds reopened and the memories poured out.   
  
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _There. All better... Oh, who am I kidding?_   
  
The bell shrilled, a annoyingly cheerful proclamation of the beginning of one of the many hells of school. A woman with black reading glasses resting on her nose walked to the front of the class and sat on a wooden kitchen stool she had obviously brought in herself.   
  
"Creative Writing. Woodman. If that's not on your schedule, get out and get to the class your supposed to be in."   
  
Two or three students got up and walked out the door.   
  
"Idiots," she mumbled loud enough for the class to hear.   
  
After they had left, she began her mantra. "All right. My name is Mrs. Woodman, and you're stuck with me for the rest of the year. I don't accept late work unless you're dieing, you broke something other than your brain, or you were in a near death situation. Come as you are, but don't leave as you are. I want this class to change something about you. It may be your punctuality, it may be your attention span, hell, it could be your writing! I look at all of you and see something in you. Passion. Hope." Her eyes locked with Logan's. "Love. Regret."   
  
He gulped. _Damn, she's good._   
  
"Whatever I see, I expect you to show it to me on paper. I'm not gonna do that journal baloney like all those other classes you've had. I'm not gonna make you write about your holiday with Uncle Joe and Aunt Susie and that stupid dog of theirs. I'm gonna make you write your soul. If you don't think you can handle that, get your sorry bums to the counselors and get an appointment to switch out. Cuz, angel babies, this is not English class, and I'm not gonna baby you. Got it?"   
  
Stunned students slowly nodded their heads. One guy, obviously fed up with her opening comments, stood up. "Damn, this is _whack_. I'm blowing this joint."   
  
Mrs. Woodman watched him leave. As the door slowly closed, she turned back to the rest of the class. "Any more?"   
  
No one dared to move.   
  
"Good. All right, angel babies, coming around is the syllabus for the next three months. You'll get a new one in the next three months and so forth. For your first assignment, I've succumbed to the whims of the English department and have given you the usual 'What I Did Over My Summer Vacation' la."   
  
Logan felt the blood drain from his face. He couldn't move. His summer vacation? No, he couldn't write about that! That would mean reopening too many scars. That would mean telling the world about Max, and he couldn't bring himself to do that. Where could he begin? He didn't want to share his love and heartache with his best friend, let alone the rest of the class!   
  
"Hey, Logan! Logan! Take one and pass it around!" A stack of syllabuses from the student behind him came flying over his shoulder and landed on the floor, scattering everywhere.   
  
Laughter burst out from the class as Logan scrambled to pick the papers up from the floor.   
  
"You," she said coldly.   
  
He looked up from the floor to see her short form towering over him.   
  
"After class, got it?"   
  
"O-ok," he managed to get out.   
  
He returned to his seat with the disheveled stack of papers in hand, took one, and passed it to the next person. A hand patted him on the back.   
  
"Smooth, Cale, real smooth."   
  
"Thanks a lot," he muttered back.   
  
"Back to the assignment. Summer vacation, chickadees. This isn't your usual summer vacation paper for the sole reason that is creative writing. I don't want just a page, no, you'll never get off that easily in my class. I want 10."   
  
_10? Damn, Cale. You're in it now. You can't write ten pages about her...Wait. That's bull. Of course you can, you can write thousands! But for Mrs. Woodman? I don't think so._   
  
"Minimum."   
  
_Shit._   
  
The teacher's eyes swept across the classroom of students. Some looked excited, some looked satisfied, others looked like they had just been condemned to die.   
  
She started back up again. "I want detail, use of literary devices, imagery, whatever will make it sound like you did something over the summer. We'll discuss the other assignments when we get to them. Get some paper out and start a draft. While you do that, I'll see how many students have decided to show up for my class today."   
  
Mrs. Woodman turned around and began to root around though piles of paper on the desk. When she unearthed a remote, she turned up the jazz music. The students looked up at her, confusion written all over their faces. "Write!"   
  
Their heads turned back to their papers, leaving only Logan without a single word on his paper. _Ok, Cale, you can do this. It shouldn't be that hard. You… can write about the whole summer as if she wasn't even there! Like that day on the beach never happened!_   
  
  
  
_ The sparkling sand welcomed him with its cool, soft texture tickling his feet. Moving closer to the lapping waves, he took off his shoes and wiggled his toes in the wet sand. Somehow he had survived the past school year without this beach, his beach of all places. The sun had just arisen from its watery grave, welcoming Logan on the beach with affectionate kisses of light. He sat down on his towel and pulled out his journal. 'There's nothing like an empty beach to jog your thoughts.'   
  
His pen scratched noisily on the paper as thoughts poured out of him. He paused for a moment to look up at the waves quietly crashing on the shore. Only one thing could make it more beautiful...   
  
"Watch out!" A voice yelled behind him.   
  
He turned to see a yellow Frisbee flying directly at his head. Before he could get out of the way, the Frisbee smacked into his forehead.   
  
"Oww," he spat bitterly.   
  
"Omigod! I'm so sorry! Are you ok-" the voice trailed off.   
  
Logan looked at the infamous Frisbee thrower. 'Oh my God.'   
  
It was Max, clad in a black one piece. Her hair was still bouncy and curly, and the sun hit her face just right. He could have gone on describing every beautiful thing about her for days.   
  
Max's jaw opened. "You," she remarked, disgusted.   
  
She grabbed her Frisbee and started to walk back towards her sister. Logan quickly got to his feet and rushed after her.   
  
"Max, what are you doing here? Do you just happen to follow me around where ever I go?"   
  
She stopped and whipped her head around. "Excuse me? This said from Mr. Stalker himself?"   
  
"I didn't stalk you!" he yelled in retort.   
  
"Oh, yeah right! You don't call following me and my sister to the most desolate place in the whole freaking store then asking me to go to coffee with you stalking!?!" She waited, shoulders heaving.   
  
A smile spread to his face. "But you enjoyed yourself."   
  
She groaned and tilted her head back. "How many times have we gone over this? I-DON'T-LIKE-YOU!"   
  
"Sis! No need to yell!" Heather walked up behind her and rested her arm on Max's shoulder. "The whole beach can hear your conversation! The seagulls are starting to complain." Turning to Logan, she held out her hand. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Heather, Maxie's older sister. Whatever she's told you about me isn't true."   
  
Logan chuckled lightly and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Logan."   
  
Heather looked at Logan, who was looking at Max, and then looked back at Max, who was staring angrily at him. She looked back and forth several times until she got the message.   
  
"All right, I'm officially late! Lauren's gonna kill me!" She motioned in the direction of her car. "If you need anything, just call me on my cell! Oh, and by the way, Max, just so you know, you're not leaving this beach until you and Logan say something productive and not to mention considerate to each other." She turned back to Logan and smiled. "Nice to meet you! Must dash, I've got to find the nearest internet café. I'm late for my therapy chat!" Heather grabbed her bag and rushed to her car. "Remember, Maxie! Productive and considerate!"   
  
She got in the car and drove off, leaving Max and Logan alone on a deserted beach.   
  
'Oh the possibilities,' he thought to himself and smiled.   
  
"What are you smiling about?" Max snapped, rather upset at the events of the last five minutes.   
  
Logan smiled wider and walked past her. "Nothing."   
  
"Nothing? What do you mean nothing? I know that Cheshire cat smile, and that, my friend, is not 'nothing'. " She trailed behind him as he walked closer to the waves.   
  
"Oh, so I'm your friend now?" he tossed back. This banter thing was fun.   
  
Max groaned and started to walk the other direction, leaving Logan still standing inches from the wet sand. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out heavily, taking in the sounds floating around him. He could hear her angry footsteps corrupting the sand, but they soon stopped. The soft crunch of the sand started up again, only softer and more cautious this time.   
  
"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly.   
  
'About how my parents dump me in paradise every year, and only after the twelfth year back have I found an angel.' He opened his eyes and turned his head to the direction of her silky voice. "About you."   
  
A small smile tugged at her lips, and after she resisted the urge to fight it, she gave in and a beautiful smile blossomed on her face.   
  
"Do you always hafta use your charms on me or can ya give it a break everyonce in a while?"   
  
"Always," he replied softly.   
  
Max turned from Logan's gaze and looked out over the ocean. "Well, since I'm gonna be stuck here for a while, I might as well have some fun!" She looked back at Logan. "Care to join me?"   
  
"Well," he cocked his head to one side and stroked the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "Considering that my schedule consists of nothing, followed by nothing, followed by some more nothing, I'm thinking-"   
  
"Logan! Hey Cuz!" A deep voice rang out behind them.   
  
"Loogie!" a much higher voice shrilled out behind them as well, causing Logan to put his head in his hands and groan.   
  
Max turned around to see a guy and a skinny chick walking up to where she and Logan were standing. The girl, obviously rather prissy, was walking in her rather expensive Giorgio Armani swimsuit with Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses resting on her rather questionable nose. She was carrying nothing but a small handbag covered in sequins and beads. The guy walking beside her, however, had armloads of her stuff. He could barely walk, and looked tired from schlepping it across the beach, but she saw the way he looked at her.   
  
"Bennett, what are you doing here?" Logan said warily. 'I can never get away from them, can I?'   
  
Bennett put down the armload of bags next to Logan's belongings not too far off and came back.   
  
"I saw your away message and decided to join you."   
  
'Note to self: never tell the truth on IM away messages!'   
  
"Hi Loogie! How are you today!" the blonde said with a little too much pep.   
  
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Max's body stiffen.   
  
"He's just fine, thank you," Max spat angrily.   
  
Sara shot Max a look. "If I had wanted a look into the world of the unfashionable, I would have asked you. But I asked Logan." Sara's gaze went back to Logan's like it had never happened and started over. "So Loogie, how are you?"   
  
"The only one I see who has something unfashionable is that scar on your nose. How much did _that_ cost?" Max spat.   
  
Sara touched her nose sensitively and yelled, "Well... well- Urgh! You watch your back, girly!"   
  
In a huff, she walked over to Bennett who was setting up their towels and shoving the rather obtrusive, pink umbrella in the ground.   
  
Logan sighed out in relief. He turned to Max and was about to thank her but he stopped. She was standing with her arms crossed over her chest and he could see invisible lightning bolts of hatred flying at Sara, Bennett's airhead girlfriend. Was she...jealous?   
  
He put his arm around her. "Thanks. Sara's been trying to get me through Bennett for a while now..."   
  
She shrugged and kept her gaze on Bennett's struggle with the umbrella. "No big dealio," she said casually, her eyes finally moving to his.   
  
The world slowed to a molasses pace and blurred around them. All he could see was her beautiful face glowing in the sunlight. Her deep, brown eyes shone back him, filled with hope and...love? He moved closer to her face and could feel her warm breath on his face. She slowly inched forward, continuing to erase the space between them. He could feel her aura absorbing him and washing over him. Closer, closer, closer... Her lips barely touched his, lightly brushing over them before he finally killed the space between them. He kissed her slowly and cautiously, not wanting to scare her away. She kissed him back, softly at first, but it quickly escalated. Logan could feel her fingers running through his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it as Max and Logan flew straight up to cloud nine. He moved closer to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, never wanting to let go.   
  
"Max...Max..." he muttered as he kissed her ear softly.   
  
"Logan..." she managed to get out as she moved her hand down his head and wrapped them around his neck.   
  
He kissed her soft skin, leaving trails of passion on her jaw line. Logan kissed her lips again and could feel her melt in his arms. Suddenly Max pulled away hastily and looked at Logan.   
  
"Girl needs her oxygen," she managed to wheeze out.   
  
Logan smiled and planted a kiss on her forehead. She rested her head on his chest as they looked out over the ocean resting in the comfort of each other's arms.   
  
'Yep, one helluva summer.' _   
  
  
  
"Mr. Cale? Mr. Cale!" Mrs. Woodman's voice snapped him out of his happy recollections.   
  
He looked around the classroom to find it empty.   
  
"Mr. Cale, I've been watching you the whole period." She sat on a nearby desk and put her arms on her knees. "Now, I know something's wrong."   
  
"Nothing's wrong," he mumbled.   
  
"Don't lie to me," Mrs. Woodman spat. "I can see it in your eyes. You love someone."   
  
Logan gulped. _Damnit, Cale! How could you be dumb enough show your vulnerability to a teacher? A teacher for crying out loud!_   
  
"Yes," he choked. "I do love her."   
  
His gaze fell to the floor, but he could still feel her eyes penetrating him.   
  
"What happened?" Mrs. Woodman asked softly.   
  
"She's gone," he said mechanically.   
  
He picked up his backpack and moved towards the door. He was going to be late to his next class if he didn't hurry.   
  
"Mr. Cale."   
  
He stopped and turned to face her.   
  
"Write about her."   
  
Logan took a deep breath. "I can't," he said shakily.   
  
With that he opened the door and started to make his way to Physics. 


	4. You've Got to be Joking

**Disclaimer:** Too bad for me, I don't own Dark Angel. I do own Heather, Sara, Lauren, and Mrs. Woodman.   
  
**Time Frame:** Total AU, 2005. No Pulse, no Manticore, no virus, no breeding cult psychos! Yay!   
  
**Author's Note:** Thanks SO MUCH for the reviews: RubyStar, mackenzie karls, Nina, Abregaza, Natters, Dark Phanton, Gozer, chiancat87, CharmedOneJayme, Bonita, and Winking Tiger, JessicaMackenzie, dleep, beth, and my DAR buddy MLFan!!   
  
Keep em coming; an author survives off of feedback!   
  
**To address the AU thing,** if you read the Time Frame: You'll see that it says AU, No plans to bring in OC yet, but Bling may be coming to visit...   
  
**Who is Heather?** Heather's my best bud in the whole world. She's the best mother figure/support group any girl could have, and I thought that would be good for Max...   
  
  
  
**Four - You've _Got_ to be Joking**   
  
  
  
Max burst into the lively cafeteria with a look of horror plastered on her face. She couldn't breathe. The air in her lungs had stopped moving since honors English I with Mr. Patrekki. The day had started off badly and had gotten worse before lunch. She hadn't thought it could be possible, but she soon realized that in high school, anything was possible. Moving quickly through the bustling mass of people hugging, laughing and talking, she plopped down on a bench at a deserted lunch table.   
  
_My life has just ended. My life has just ended. My life has just ended. My life has just-_   
  
"Max!" Heather sat across from her and looked at Max's pale face, concerned. "Max? Are you okay? What's wrong? Did you finally see this year's cafeteria ladies?" Heather chuckled to herself, but stopped quickly when she saw Max wasn't laughing with her.   
  
Heather's words barely processed in Max's head. She only picked up bits and pieces breaking through the waterfall of thought going through her mind. All of a sudden the waterfall ran dry when she felt a hand smack her upside the head.   
  
"Hey!" Max remarked, rubbing the back of her head tenderly. "What the hell was that for?"   
  
Heather smiled at her sister, ignoring her evil glares. "Do you think I coulda gotten your attention by sitting here talking and hoping that if I talked long enough, you would start paying attention? You underestimate your big sister's tolerance levels."   
  
"Oh," Max managed to get out. "Sorry."   
  
"Now, tell me why you look like your life just ended for the second or third time this week?"   
  
Max groaned and put her head down on the plastic table. "Because it did," came her muffled response.   
  
Heather looked at her skeptically. "That's not possible, we haven't even walked through the cafeteria lines yet," she joked, hoping to get a laugh out of her baby sister.   
  
Max lifted her head and shot a sarcastic look at her sister. "Ha, ha, very funny. I'm being serious though-my life has just ended. Again."   
  
"Tell Heather what's going on then," Heather said softly, patting her sister's arm sympathetically.   
  
  
  
_ Max let out a sigh of relief as the bell rang; first period was finally over! Algebra seemed to have slugged by, leaving Max bored stiff. Cautiously, she navigated though the busy corridors to her English class. As she walked through the halls, she could see people fly by her, some alone and angry, others already paired with their semester soul mates, sap pouring out of their ears. It made her sick to her stomach... but at the same time it made her long for Logan. She wanted to be in his arms again on that beach in LA without a care in the world. Max wanted all the textbooks and morons and rules and syllabuses to disappear and for Logan to take their place. She would do anything to see him again.   
  
"Hey, kid, we don't have all day! Move!" an angry voice called out, bringing her back to the stark reality of the here and now.   
  
Max looked around and realized that she was just standing in the middle of the hall right in front of her next class, frozen in time. Mutely, she walked forward and opened the old wooden door circa 1970-something. The class was full of people, some of whom she had known since she wore Velcro shoes and pigtails, others she had never seen in her life. Max spotted an empty desk at the back of the class and slid into the cold, plastic seat. Resting her head against the wall, she tried to push Logan from her mind. Max tried to erase the moments: the tension, the dance, the café, all those sunsets...but the more she tried to delete them forever, the more she felt his presence ruling over her again. 'If only I had gotten my act together and told him where I live! Maxie, you are a total idiot. A complete and total idiot!'   
  
The bell screamed from some hidden place as her English teacher, Mr. Patrekki, got up from his desk and stood before the class. He was an older man with a head of dissipating hair clad in a dull eighties blazer and pants that needed to be taken to the Smithsonian for their age and horrible fit. 'Students must put him through hell.' The rather dated reading glasses sitting on his desk seemed to be too large for his head and the nosepiece too loose. He gave every student a silent evaluation, staring intently at their faces, clothing, and how well prepared they had come to class. Heather had warned Max in the car that morning that Max had gotten one of the shrewdest, most conservative English teacher in the whole building. But of course, she didn't need Heather's warning. Max could tell he was a "rightie all the way" by the bland set up of his classroom. The institutional beige walls were only covered in dust and fire escape routes, and his desk had only been graced with neat little stacks of paper and his reading glasses. 'Geez, Heather was right,' she thought. 'Thank God this isn't geography,'   
  
"Good morning, class," he said in a rather bland voice. "My name is Mr. Patrekki. I will be your honors English teacher this year. Sorry, but you're stuck with me," 'Hello, Ben Stein,' Max thought. The balding man moved to his desk, picked up a neat stack of papers, and waved it in the air. "This is your assignment. You have a week to procrastinate and spoil your brains with that MTV stuff before you get written down in my book."   
  
'Ah yes, the book'. Max had heard those words earlier. She thought back to that morning in the car when Heather had told her about Mr. Patrekki.   
  
  
  
_ "I told you he'd mention it!" Heather said triumphantly, interrupting Max's recollections of the morning. Max looked at Heather expectantly, waiting for something else. "Oh, no, I'm done. Go on."   
  
As Max started to speak, Heather cut her off. "But I told you he would! Don't you remember this morning on the way to school?"   
  
  
  
_ "Now, if he writes you down in his book, you're gonna be hawked for the rest of the year." Heather was filling Max in about her lovely new teacher. So far, it didn't look pretty.   
  
"Mafia style kinda hawk or Big Brother kinda hawk?"   
  
Heather glided to a stop. "You remember when my friends and I had that whole Mafia joke and I thought someone was spying on me?"   
  
Max recollected back to when her sister was in eighth grade (and she was in sixth). She remembered Heather's eighth grade friends talking about the Mafia following them around and waiting by their bus stop with the classic tinted-window cars. She let out a small laugh.   
  
"Could you imagine an old, crusty, elephant-loving teacher staking out our house with Class One tinted windows?" Heather mused. Max laughed again, answering her question. "So what about this book dealio?"   
  
The light turned green and the rubber of the wheels began to roll over the concrete again. "He keeps this book off to the side where no one can see it, but we all know it's there. If something goes wrong with a student, he'll whip out his book and write it down," she warned her little sister. "He won't leave anything out either; this is a big ass book, a Tolstoy kinda book. He'll continue to watch you all throughout high school if you're not careful."   
  
"He sounds like he need to attend one of your seminars," Max joked. "Maybe the obsessive-compulsive one this November?"   
  
Heather laughed and did her trademark clap. "Great idea! I can book at the Westin and everything!"_   
  
  
  
"Of course I remember!" Max said, drumming her knuckles on the laminate table. "Can I go on now?" Her patience was starting to grow thin as Heather's interruptions grew more numerous.   
  
"Yes, I give you my blessing to go on with your story," Heather said with a religious air about her.   
  
Max smiled sarcastically, tilting her head to the side. "Why, thank you!"   
  
  
  
_ "I want it to be 12 point font, double spaced, and justified. If you can't comply with my instructions, they go in the trash. I won't even look at them. The first lesson you learn in life: follow the rules or suffer the wrath of the justice system."   
  
'Pleasant,' she thought.   
  
"I'm being extremely kind by giving you a free response essay with three different prompts. Write the prompts and nothing else. I don't care how much you cry over this essay, I just want to see how much I'm going to have to teach you cretins this year."   
  
With his little rant finished, Mr. Patrekki started to pass the papers to the students, all of them shocked and dismayed with the teacher they had gotten this year. When his job was done, he returned to his desk and opened the Business section of The Seattle News. 'What a great teacher,' Max snorted to herself. The prompt finally came flying over the shoulder in front of her and onto her graffitoed desk. She rummaged around in her backpack for a pen to write her name on her paper, even though she would throw it away in due time. 'Come on, come on! There's gotta be a pen in here somewhere!'   
  
After finally pulling out a pen, Mr. Patrekki lifted his head from the newspaper and said, "Don't even think about writing on those prompts. I have to use those little prompt papers until eighth period. So if you wrote on it, pray that your wrote it in pencil."   
  
Groans arose from the students, causing Mr. Patrekki to do his best impression of an impish smile, which really looked like an odd grimace of pain. He went back to his paper. Max rolled her eyes, reaching in her backpack again to fish out an empty spiral. She flipped to the first clean page and started to copy the prompt down:   
  
  
English Prompt   
  
Write a free response essay about one of the three prompts:   
  
Life Story   
  
-leave out irrelevant anecdotes   
  
-basics only   
  
  
Goals in Life   
  
-explain one to three   
  
-be specific   
  
  
She read the last prompt and tried not to cry or get up and slap Mr. Patrekki. How could she do a prompt like this? How, how, how? Max gripped her pen tightly, barely getting the last prompt down without resurfacing another painful memory.   
  
  
Summer Vacation   
  
-hit key points   
  
- include details   
  
-school appropriate   
  
  
  
_ "I can't write this paper, and that means I'm going to fail!" Max cried. "Fail my first assignment! In high school! I just can't do that! This-"   
  
Heather covered Max's mouth, stopping her from creating the longest run-on sentence known to man. "Hun, listen to me. Relax!" Slowly she took her hand away from Max's face.   
  
"Easy for you to say-" Max muttered.   
  
"I'm serious! I know you can do this assignment! You won't fail, and this assignment will not ruin your high school transcript. I know this."   
  
Max looked at her sister skeptically. "How do you know?"   
  
Heather smiled and leaned in closer. "Because I can foresee the future!"   
  
The two girls burst out into giggles. Heather looked at her sister's happy face and couldn't help but smile. _Don't worry, Sis, things'll get better._   
  
  
  
Later that night Max sat in the middle of her bed with a tornado of homework encircling her. She found it hard to believe that she had gotten so much homework on just the first day. Max suddenly felt a longing for middle school, when things were easy and social problems took rank over schooling.   
  
"Oh, the good ol' days," she mused aloud.   
  
It wasn't like her homework was an uphill battle; it just took time. Time she would rather spend on her small and currently unsuccessful search for the guy who stole her heart. She had called all around Los Angeles looking for his number. She had phoned his aunt and uncle's house, the major high schools, public and private, and even some colleges. In all of her time with him, she had never found out his age or where he went to school... things she was paying for now. Heather had helped her out as much as she could, but it was still difficult to search for Logan with her mother watching over her like the CIA.   
  
Nicole Guevara was a rather odd character compared to Max and Heather. Raised in a Hispanic neighborhood in Southern Los Angeles, Nicole and her mother, Maria, worked double shifts and fought to survive. The two did almost everything they could to keep their heads above water and poverty. But as Nicole got older, her mother married an uppity businessman out of Pasadena who seemed to magically fix all of the family's financial problems. By high school, Nicole had to say goodbye to her girlfriends and hello to a new, pristine high school with rich kids who were fed with silver spoons. After a rocky start, she soon rose to the top of the social ladder, becoming the squad leader of the cheerleading team, winning Homecoming Queen every year, and being crowned prom Queen. She graduated high school with a full cheerleading scholarship and a brand new Ford Mustang, making her friends turn greener than they ever had in the past. In college she met the love of her life, Ray Guevara, and was soon married.   
  
When Nicole had met Ray, he was a freshman as well, and Nicole had never made an attempt at dating older men after seeing where it had gotten her mother. Nicole's father had left her and Maria right after Nicole was born, taking all the money and the car with him. She did everything she could to emphasize the fact that she greatly disapproved of dating older men. Nicole claimed, "Once you get too old or too ugly, they'll drop you like that for another pretty face and tight body."   
  
Max knew Logan would never do that, though, and she had told that to her mom, Nicole never seemed to believe her. Logan wasn't the type to check out "arm jewelry"... was he? Max pushed the thought away and started to search for what was left of her homework. _Algebra: check. Geography: check. Biology: check. Syllabuses: check, check, check, check times a thousand. So everything's done except-_ "English."   
  
She sighed and grabbed her laptop. Once the operating system had finally booted and she had opened a word document, Max opened her XTC mp3 and started her last assignment.   
  
_I'm the man who murdered love. Yeah!   
  
Whaddya say to that?_   
  
"I say go you, buddy," she muttered, thinking over which prompt to do. _Should I do the life story or the Wheaties box goals... hmm... Well, I guess my life story wouldn't include Logan at all, so how about that..._ Her fingers danced across the keyboard as she started from the beginning of her rather uneventful life. After a while, she stopped to reread what she wrote.   
  
  
  
_I was born in a rather bleak and ugly hospital on your typical stormy night late 1991. My mother Nicole was screaming her head off swearing that she was going to kill my father if she could actually stand, but she couldn't, because she was having me. My father was trying not to faint or allow his hand to be broken. My sister, who was the tender age of three, was secretly escaping from hospital daycare and doing the Rugrats thing, except she wasn't bald and could stand properly, but that's ok.   
  
The city was Gillette and the state, Wyoming, but that soon changed. My uppity entrepreneur father walked in one day when I had just learned to market cookies by being cute and told us that we were moving to Seattle. Being the understanding sister that she is, Heather had no problem with this. But being nine and completely irrational, I ran away (after throwing the mother of all tantrums), and hid out in our neighbor Mr. Lydecker's basement for five hours until he found me crying around shards of a broken cocktail glass. It goes without saying that he pulled me back to my house, which was now filled with packing tape and boxes.   
  
So we moved away to Seattle and have never been back to Gillette since. I came to love Seattle and it's little quirks, mostly because Bill Nye was rumored to always be in one of Seattle's science museums all the time. My favorite part of Seattle is definitely the Space Needle. It was originally built for the World's Fair, but was later bought over my some suits as an "investment." Yeah right. I've always wanted to climb onto the Needle; maybe one day I'll break the law and sit up there. Maybe then my problems would disappear and I could be a normal girl with normal problems...   
  
But anyway, after adjusting to Seattle, I came to love it and started a happy life here. _   
  
  
  
Max looked over the end of her paper so far and cringed. _Maybe Heather will know what to do and help me fix it..._   
  
She stopped the mp3 and closed her laptop, heading for Heather's room. As she walked in, Max was immediately welcomed by "London Calling" and Heather's pristine "psychologist's" couch. The two sisters had a long-running joke that Heather was a psychologist because she was so good at helping her friends solve their problems and analyzing their dreams. Max often went to Heather just to spill her problems or dreams and have Heather find some hidden meaning or desire in them. "One day I'll start my own practice," Heather often joked.   
  
Max walked farther into the room to find it empty. "Heather?"   
  
While Max's room was the size of her parents' walk-in closet, Heather had gotten the sweeter end of the deal. Heather's room was more like two rooms in one: an area for leisure and an area for her computer and schoolwork. Heather had separated them with a curtain drawn between the two rooms to keep the vibes and feelings from mixing and fighting with each other.   
  
Pulling the curtain aside, Max finally found Heather talking on the phone.   
  
"Heather, I need you to look at this," she whispered.   
  
Heather nodded and took the laptop. "Yeah, Michael, it's my sister. Wanna say hi?"   
  
After briefly listening to his reply, Heather handed the phone to Max, opened the laptop, and began to read.   
  
"Hey, Michael! How's Kansas City?" Max asked trying to hide her own frustration.   
  
"It's great! How do you like being back in Seattle?" Michael's question seemed so innocent. Heather obviously hadn't told him why they came back two weeks early. Max could feel tears start to prick at her eyes and a lump grew in her throat.   
  
"It's okay," Max managed to get out. "Oh, look, Heather wants to talk to you again. Nice chattin' with ya!"   
  
Before he could say anything, Max handed the phone to Heather who was still reading Max's paper. She bolted out of Heather's room, tears now sliding down her cheeks, and ran back to the safety of her own, crashing on top of the bed and sending stuffy rules and syllabuses flying to the floor.   
  
_How can I survive without you if I can't even carry on a phone conversation without crying over you?_   
  
Rain softly pelted her window as the day melted into the night. She moved her head to watch the rain streaming down the smooth glass, reminding her of all the tears she had shed for him... for them.   
  
_Where are you, Logan Cale?_


	5. The Start of Something

**Disclaimer:** Too bad for me, I don't own Dark Angel. I do own Heather, Sara, Lauren, and Mrs. Woodman, Michael, and Mr. P.   
  
**Time Frame:** Total AU, 2005. No Pulse, no Manticore, no virus, no breeding cult psychos! Yay!   
  
**Author's Note:** Thanks for the reviews!: RubyStar, mackenzie, Cuthien, J, dleep, Natters, abregaza, lil-DA, CharmedOneJayme, and Elisha!   
  
  
  
**Five - The Start of Something**   
  
  
  
Logan sat on the cool kitchen counter and watched the rain pour down the large windowpanes. He was surrounded in darkness, feeling more alone than he ever had. The massive house was empty: his parents were off at some charity function, and the maid had left for the night. Downing more of his soda, Logan reflected back on his first day of this junior year. It had started out bad and had gotten worse. That Mrs. Woodman had had him pegged from the first class, and now she knew about Max. She wanted him to write about Max, but he couldn't. He already had boxes upon boxes full of his sufferings and rantings about her, his regrets, her face- Logan couldn't get her out of his mind even if he was dead.   
  
Sighing, he slid off the counter and padded back upstairs to his room, the only place he called home. After what happened in LA, it was too painful to even consider the palm trees and his beach home anymore. Logan flipped a light on and looked around. It was a mess. Clothes were strewn all around the room, wrappers and soda cans lay dead on the floor, and his journals were scattered across his desk after he nearly blew up when his father had come in to talk to him once he had gotten back from LA. That was over two weeks ago.   
  
The talk had started out with good intentions, like his father always had, but as it went on, the talk had changed into a lecture about not being in the family business. Logan sighed at the memory and bent over to pick up the trash on the floor. Any talk Logan had ever had with his father had always led back to the family business. His father had been a capitalist all of his life; starting with that stereotypical lemonade stand and it just kept going from that. When Logan was growing up, he made money by telling the great adventures of his idol, Superman. He and his father had very little in common.   
  
After throwing away the last of his trash, he plopped into his computer chair and turned on the monitor. "Download complete" windows from #X-Files-Central smiled at him. Closing the windows, he then filed the episodes away according to season. Logan loved the show to death, even though it had ended three or four years ago. He opened an episode, minimized the window, and continued to file the latest downloaded episodes, the extra-terrestrial jargon spouted by Mulder and Scully filling the air.   
  
As the episode ended, he opened another and started on the dull task of homework. The first day of school hadn't changed since the day he was a shy young freshman anxious about starting school far away from those slow, pre-puberty middle schoolers. Teachers yapped on about the same policies, had the same expectations that would never be met, and practically gave the same syllabuses. The faces and the classroom walls were the only things that changed from year to year. The rain and X-Files comforting him, he and his pen started to pour the same boring statistics onto the crisp, white papers one by one. Later in the night as his hand moved across notebook paper, forming words and equations, his mind wandered to Max and Los Angeles. Did she live in California? Did she try to contact him? Where was she? Questions consumed his mind as his pencil continued to move on the paper. Where was she right now? Was she okay? Did she miss him as much as he missed her? He could see her with her sister now, talking and laughing... she probably wasn't going to miss him that much or go through as much pain as he was going through right now.   
  
Bennett always told Logan that he grieved too much and for too long, and right now his words seemed to ring true. But it wasn't everyday he met someone that amazing and beautiful and smart...   
  
His eyes moved to the next calculus problem, but he realized that he had finished with his calculus homework. Pushing his books off of his lap, he opened Internet Explorer and stared at the blank screen thoughtfully. _Where should I go?_ Logan mused. He thought of Max at that moment: her curly hair, her pouty smile. The thunder suddenly crashed behind him, making him jump a little. _Damn thunder._   
  
Logan hated thunderstorms; they were always so loud and menacing. When he was younger, he would run into his parents' room and stay with them until the thunder had passed. Now that he was older, he still hated thunder, but he drowned it out with music instead. He reached for his remote in its usual place in his top desk drawer, but he found the spot to be empty. Rummaging through some piles on his desk, he came across his return plane ticket from Los Angeles. Logan looked at it for a moment, then picked it up, feeling some kind of power drawing him to it.   
  
"Plane tickets...plane tickets!" he muttered to himself, a light bulb turning on in his head. He sat back down and typed in the address for American Airlines.   
  
"Alright, let's see if they have a database of all the flights in the past month."   
  
Logan clicked the search box and typed in "past flights" and clicked "Go." After waiting for the site to load, he read the results of the search. Nothing.   
  
"Damnit!" he cursed, slamming his fist on the desk, causing little odds and ends to jump. "There has to be a way to find the list!"   
  
He started to search the site manually, leaving no link unchecked, but he found nothing. Sighing, he highlighted the URL and changed it to another airline web address.   
  
"This is gonna take a while."   
  
  
  
Hours later Logan was still sitting at his desk searching every airline that ever existed to find a list of past flights. He had failed miserably. The only databases that anyone might have had were only a couple weeks old, and that didn't help at all. He had tried calling those "24/7" phone numbers to find out what flight she took, but, according to the drones of operators who answered, Logan "did not have access to that information."   
  
"Damn them," he grumbled, downing another cup of strong, black coffee. "There's gotta be a way to get into those databases!"   
  
Logan put the now empty mug next to a large collection of unwashed mugs and started looking through the sites again, hoping to find something that he may have missed. As he typed in the address for American Airlines again, the moon slowly retreated to the other end of the sky, fading into the early morning light.   
  
  
  
"Logan? Logan!"   
  
A voice and a shove forced Logan to sit up and slowly open his eyes. The blurs that surrounded him gradually came back in focus. He was in the cafeteria before school, what most kids did when they wanted to catch up with old friends. In his case, he just wanted to catch up on sleep. The biggest blur in front of him turned out to be Bling, his good friend whom he had met when he was a terrified freshman at Seattle High. Bling was giving Logan a concerned look, but sat down anyway and gave Logan a fresh cup of coffee.   
  
"Oh, hey, Bling." Logan muttered sleepily. "How are you?"   
  
"I'm fine, but what about you? Are you all right?" Bling looked at his friend curiously. Logan's hair was more disheveled than usual, the bags under his eyes were getting heavier... Logan just looked bad. "You look like crap scraped off the back of Billy Winters' monster SUV."   
  
Logan grumbled a laugh and took his glasses off to rub the sleep out of his eyes. "I was up til about five this morning looking for Max," he sighed. After putting his glasses back on, Logan took a long sip of his coffee, hoping it would wake him up.   
  
Bling shook his head. "Logan, my man, give it up! You've been looking for her since the moment you stepped off that plane! And what have you found so far?" Logan glared at the laminate table, jaw clenched, unable to say anything. "Logan, you're running yourself into the ground! You look like hell-"   
  
"Thanks," Logan finally remarked, his voice tainted in sarcasm.   
  
Bling ignored the comment and went on. "You look like hell every time I see you! That was okay over the summer when you had time to kill, but school's started! No more time!"   
  
Logan cocked his head and look at Bling in mock confusion. "Really? School's started? No way!"   
  
"All I'm saying is," Bling sighed, "you need to get some sleep, maybe eat a little. You don't wanna die of malnutrition and sleep deprivation, do ya?"   
  
Logan slid his glasses back on and took another sip of coffee. His best friend's words had run pretty deep, but Logan would most likely forget it in a couple days. Bling finished his coffee and dunked the paper cup into a trashcan.   
  
"So..." Bling drawled, trying to think of something to talk about. It had been hard to talk to Logan when the only thing Logan was thinking of was Max. "Have you at least found out if she lives in California?" _You're supposed to be helping your friend move on, not make him worse,_ he chided himself.   
  
"She doesn't. She left on a plane," Logan said somberly.   
  
Bling rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to slap his friend. "She left on a plane?"   
  
"Didn't I just say that?"   
  
"Logan, lots of people leave on planes! Just because she left on a plane doesn't mean she doesn't live in the state!" Bling couldn't believe how stupid Logan was becoming.   
  
"Most of the school districts in California don't have a Max Guevara in their schools," Logan finally said.   
  
"Have you tried to find her flight?"   
  
"I'm not able to access that 'top priority information,' " Logan grumbled bitterly.   
  
"Well, do you know when her flight was?" Bling could see the answer forming in his head, but obviously Logan hadn't seen it yet.   
  
"The week, but not the day." Logan had tried to remember the day, had known it once, but then a realization hit him: Why did Bling care? "Why do you ask?"   
  
Bling groaned and ran a hand over his face. "I can't believe you!"   
  
"What?" Logan shouted, causing some heads to turn. "What the hell did I do?"   
  
Bling rolled his eyes and tapped the side of Logan's head. "Hello? Anybody home?"   
  
Logan was getting irritated with Bling now. "Cut the crap and tell me why you're treating me like I'm an imbecile!"   
  
Bling shook his head and laughed. "Because that's what you are! Don't you see what's right in front of your face?"   
  
Logan groaned and slammed his fist on the table. "No! I don't see it! I musta lost the memo to look around every now and then!"   
  
Other people in the cafeteria were starting to stare at them, wondering how a fight could start so early in the year.   
  
"You can find her, you ass!" Bling finally yelled.   
  
Logan looked at him, dumbfounded at Bling's outburst. "How?"   
  
Bling took a few deep breaths, calming himself down. "Don't you remember that trip we were planning freshman year? When we wanted to see Radiohead in New York?"   
  
Logan vaguely remembered the trip that the two had planned to a tee that year. They had never gotten the permission to go, but they had had fun in the process of planning. "What's your point?"   
  
"Do you remember how we planned for that trip?" Bling leaned in closer as Logan searched his mental database.   
  
  
  
_ Radiohead was blasting over the new speaker system Logan had gotten for his birthday. He and Bling were sitting on his floor in his room, buried in maps and guidebooks about New York. Both were clad in their favorite Radiohead shirts, the boys' latest obsession. Sure, those girls had their pop icons and their overage male artists, but Bling and Logan had Radiohead.   
  
At the moment, the two were planning their big trip to hopefully convince their parents to let them go to New York to see the big Radiohead show at Madison Square Garden. As soon as the set list for the tour had come out, Logan and Bling had been devising a plan. Bling had never been to New York before and wanted to see everything. Logan, on the other hand, had been there a couple of times to visit his mom's sister, a famous Broadway actress and singer extraordinaire.   
  
"All right," Bling said, pushing some of the maps off of his lap. "Your internet working? Maybe we can find a good deal on a flight over there, which is the best way to convince any parent about flying to the other coast."   
  
"Maybe," Logan said, moving to his computer, "Last night's blackout is still kicking my connection in the ass." Logan opened an Internet Explorer window only to be greeted with a "this page cannot be displayed" screen. "Nope. It's still down."   
  
Bling muttered under his breath. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. "So how are we gonna be able to convince them to let us go if we can't find when we can come in or if we can get a deal?"   
  
Logan just sat there, his pensive look burning an invisible hole into the screen. Suddenly he jumped out of his chair and walked quickly out of his room.   
  
"Logan! Where are you going?" Bling rushed out of the room, following Logan as he headed downstairs into his father's study.   
  
Logan walked into the study closet and flipped on a light.   
  
"Whoa," Bling whispered. The whole closet was stuffed wall-to-wall with little thin booklets. "What are these?"   
  
Logan skimmed his fingertips along the books, looking for the one with the month that matched the month of the concert. Finally, he saw it. "Ah ha! Found it!" He pulled it out and handed it to Bling. "That is how we find a flight to New York without our lovely friend, Mr. Internet."   
  
Bling looked at the cover, his eyes skimming over the bright blue letters. "OAG? What is this?"   
  
"A flight guide. It has-" _   
  
  
  
"-all of the flights listed of that month!" Logan whispered to himself. "Bling, you're a genius!"   
  
Bling laughed and shook his head. "No, you're just slow, man."   
  
Logan groaned at the clock bolted to the cafeteria wall. He only had about 10 minutes until the bells rang, warning that their free time was nearing an end.   
  
"It won't work, man," Bling said, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. "You don't have enough time to go back to get it."   
  
Logan silently cursed to himself and nodded. "I know," he said under a cool façade. Logan slowly stood up and grabbed his backpack. He started to make his way towards the hall of his first class when he felt a tug on his bag.   
  
Bling was trailing at Logan's heels with a bewildered look on his face. "You know?" Bling said, taken back by his answer. "Why are you so calm about this? I was expecting you to be late so you could go back and get the book from your dad's office!"   
  
"Well, as you said," Logan replied smartly, "I don't have enough time."   
  
"That's never stopped you before!"   
  
Logan smiled and tapped the side of Bling's head. "Did you forget about off-campus lunch, oh smart one?"   
  
Chagrin slid on Bling's face. "Oh yeah," he said sheepishly. "I forgot."   
  
"It's okay," Logan said, patting him on the back. "Now we're even."   
  
As the first dismissal bell chirped loudly through the school, laughter floated down the hall, letting ease pass through Logan, for the moment anyways.   
  
  
  
"All right, chickadees." Logan sat in creative writing later that morning, listening to Mrs. Woodman talk about the dreaded ten pages. "I hope you've gotten your first drafts started, done if you intend on turning it in at the end of the week."   
  
The stale air in the classroom was overcome with groans and gasps.   
  
"By the end of the week?" Megan Smith shrieked.   
  
_Obviously she took this class as a blow-off..._ Logan chuckled to himself.   
  
"I can't write ten pages in one week! I'll... I'll ruin my manicure!" She shoved her finely buffed and polished hand out for Mrs. Woodman to see.   
  
Mrs. Woodman walked up to Megan's desk and pushed the manicured hand away.   
  
"I'm sure you can get it redone with daddy's credit card in the other hand," Mrs. Woodman sneered. She turned on her heel and walked back to her stool. Megan gasped in disgust as Mrs. Woodman readjusted her reading glasses still perched on the bridge of her nose. "Anyway, back to the summer paper. Yes, it is due on Friday, but come on! This paper is about you! All of you should have no problem writing about yourselves!"   
  
Logan sat in his chair slowly processing her words and letting them mull over in his. _If only she knew how hard it'll be to talk about Her again._ His thoughts about Max were abruptly ended by a loud smack on his desk. Mrs. Woodman had slammed a piece of paper in front of him.   
  
"I know you have a lot to write about," she said, cryptically to the onlookers, but quite clear to him. "Tell me about her."   
  
Once the class heard that, they were up in arms.   
  
"Awwww, Logan's finally met his special someone, hasn't he?" Ryan Banks cooed sarcastically.   
  
Logan bristled at Bank's words. He had hated Banks and his cold ways since elementary school. Logan had gotten over the fact that Banks was an inconsiderate ass, but this just hit too close to home.   
  
"Shove it, Banks," Logan muttered.   
  
"Oh, I guess he did! Did she leave you for somebody better?"   
  
Logan clenched his teeth and turned around to face Banks. "I said shove it. Did those nice people at Hooked on Phonics tell you what it means?"   
  
Ryan's face turned red in anger. "That's it!" He lunged out of his chair and at Logan, tackling him to the floor.   
  
The boys were rolling on the floor, wrestling and throwing punches. One saw it as defending his honor. The other saw it as an opportunity to get his anger out about what had happened a couple of months ago that had led to the living ninth circle of hell.   
  
It all seemed like one big blur to Logan. The only thing that was clear to him was Banks's face. He could hear people yelling, mostly Mrs. Woodman, but none of it made sense to him. He could feel his body moving and slamming against the carpeted concrete floors. His glasses had flown off, maybe they had gotten crushed; it didn't really matter at that moment. Hands were pulling at his body, trying to separate him from the other angry body. Logan struggled out of their grasps and landed a solid punch into Banks's jaw. As Logan's knuckles pulled away from Banks's jaw, he gave in and let the hands pull him back.   
  
  
  
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Mr. Brookson scolded, pacing behind his desk. "You boys could've severely hurt each other or the other students in the classroom!"   
  
Logan and Banks were sitting in two hard, wooden chairs in the principal's office. Bruises were starting to mar both of their faces, and Banks had an icepack on his jaw.   
  
"Oh, really?" Banks mumbled through his pain.   
  
"I don't need any of your mouth, young man," Mr. Brookson snapped. "You both should be old enough to realize that there are other alternatives to settling an argument than by fighting!" "Yes, sir," they both muttered, their eyes to the floor.   
  
Mr. Brookson sighed and plopped down in his executive office chair. He opened Ryan's files. "Well, Mr. Banks, it seems that you don't get into fights everyday, but quite often in the past two years at Seattle High School. Why is that?"   
  
"Because people piss me off, sir," Banks spouted mockingly.   
  
The principal grunted to himself, unsatisfied with the answer, but knowing he wouldn't get anything out of Ryan Banks. He never had. Mr. Brookson opened Logan's file. After skimming over what just seemed to be a transcript and academic achievements, Mr. Brookson looked up at Logan, who was pensively staring at the floor.   
  
"Now, Mr. Cale," Mr. Brookson said, making Logan looked back up. "You have nothing on your record. No detentions, no records of fighting or causing a disruption... So why start now?"   
  
Logan shifted in his seat a little. He knew his principal wouldn't give a damn about Max; it seemed that nobody did except for him.   
  
"Banks just pissed me off, sir. That's all."   
  
Mr. Brookson found this hard to believe. "He just pissed you off?"   
  
"Yes, sir," Logan said slowly. "Just pissed me off."   
  
  
  
Logan hastily unlocked the door to his house. He had served a lunch detention, forcing him to wait all day before he could find Max's flight. He was kicking himself mentally for getting on Bank's KO list, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Moving quickly through his house and brushing past the maid, he ran into his father's closet. He flipped the switch and slowly began to look through his father's archive.   
  
"Monsieur Cale? Where are you?" the maid's voice called, getting softer and softer as she went the wrong direction.   
  
"June 03, July 04, December 04..." Logan's eyes scanned the spine of everyone, looking for the one book that held the answer. "Yes! August 05!" he yelled.   
  
Logan sat down and flipped through the book. He was amazed that they could fit both arrivals and departures in such a small book. As he got to closer to the end of the arrivals, he realized that arrivals were the only thing in the book. They didn't have departures. He needed to know where she went, not where she came from.   
  
"Damnit!" He threw the little booklet against the wall, causing a loud smack. _I'm never gonna find her... never..._   
  
"Monsieur Cale! What are you doing in the closet?" the maid asked, cautiously entering the closet.   
  
"Nothing, Sandrine, nothing," he lied. He took off his glasses and slowly rubbed his eyes.   
  
"Monsieur," Sandrine said, sitting down next to him on the floor, "I have known you since before you could walk. I was there when you took your first everything. Don't think I don't know when there's something wrong."   
  
Logan sighed in defeat. "Well, over the summer...." He began telling the long story about him and Max, how they met and how they were torn apart. "And I need to find her. I need her."   
  
Sandrine blew her nose into her handkerchief. "C'est si triste, mon cher," she said through her sniffles.   
  
Logan handed her a tissue box, making Sandrine laugh. "Such a sweet boy," she said, taking the box. "Oh! My friend has a garçon you could talk to about finding ton amour. He's about your age. Poor boy's in a wheelchair. She tells me that he has a horrible disease that slowly cripples his body. The doctors say that when he's thirty he'll be quardi...quadri-"   
  
"Quadriplegic?" Logan offered.   
  
"Yes." She pointed in his direction as if the word was floating in the air. "That. Would mon cher like to talk to him?"   
  
"Yea, I think I'd like that." Logan didn't need to think twice about it; he would do anything to find her. "Thanks, Sandrine," Logan said, giving her a sideways hug.   
  
"Mon plaisir. Now, what do you say we get out of your father's closet and eat some dinner that I made, oui?" Sandrine got up and extended her hand for him.   
  
"That'd be great." He took her hand and stood up. "I don't know what I'd do without you," Logan said sincerely, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as they walked to the kitchen.   
  
  
  
As the sun slowly said its goodbyes to the day, Logan sat at his desk, staring pensively at the slip of paper Sandrine had given him. It read: "Sebastian - 564-2982." After taking a deep breath, he hooked his headset onto his ear and dialed the number. _Anything for Max,_ he thought to himself. Butterflies were riding monstrous roller coasters in his stomach as the phone rang. Finally, someone picked up.   
  
"Hello?"   
  
Logan froze. 


	6. Close, But No Cigar

**Disclaimer:** Too bad for me, I don't own Dark Angel, Edward Hopper, and any other brand names mentioned in this fic. I do own Heather, Sara, Lauren, and Mrs. Woodman, Michael, and Mr. P, Ryan Banks, Megan Smith, Sandrine, Mr. Brookson, the timid girl, Mr. Finch, Ms. McClintock, Jack, Tessa, the lonely man, the mailman, and Aaron.   
  
**Time Frame:** Total AU, 2005. No Pulse, no Manticore, no virus, no breeding cult psychos! Yay!   
  
**Author's Note:** I'm _soooooooooooooooooo_ sorry this had taken so long to get up! Summer session's evil! Pure evil! This is a longer chapter, which I'm hoping will make up for the fact that I've been AWOL for the last month...   
  
**Thanks for the reviews!:** ob, Firmament, natters, Jayme(I'm not gonna type all your names, again), dada, Dark Phanton, Gozar, mackensie karls, beth, dleep, eilien, Lanna Jne, anony, Cuthien, RubyStar(What's your favorite tree?), Mitika (you rock, girl!), MLFan, and newcomers opalglacier and sandy! **You guys are so awesome!**   
  
  
**Six - Close, But No Cigar**   
  
  
  
Max sat happily and quietly in her room, knitting a long scarf. Classical music filled the air, replacing the usual teen angst she drowned herself in. But her music wasn't the only thing that had changed; her whole room had changed as well. The floors and shelves were pristine with a "The Donna Reed Show" air to them. She herself was clad in drab, meticulously ironed clothing from the show's era.   
  
Suddenly, Nicole walked into her room with a steaming casserole dish in her hands. "Maxie, could you be a dear and get the mail for me?" she asked cheerfully. "I would ask your father, but he's too busy smoking his pipe."   
  
"Of course, Mother!" Max responded just as joyfully. "I'd love to!"   
  
Nicole smiled proudly, her heart swelling with pride. "That's my baby girl."   
  
With that, Nicole turned on her heel and carried the casserole dish back to the kitchen. As soon as her mother had left, Max skipped happily to the mailbox. She slowly opened it, hoping that a Sears catalog would be there. Sadly, she was only faced with the empty metal entrails of the box.   
  
"Afternoon, miss," a voice called out behind her.   
  
Max turned to see Logan dressed in a postal service uniform, hat and all, holding her mail. He held up a Sears catalog. "Were you looking for this?" he asked.   
  
  
  
Max bolted upright on her bed, her heart beating wildly.   
  
"What the hell was that?"   
  
She looked around her to see homework scattered randomly on the floor and the sun shining brightly into her room. 'I guess I must have fallen asleep while working on my homework...'   
  
"Finally! You've returned from Dream Theater!" Heather walked into Max's room and sat next to her. "How was it? You dream about being stuck in Pretty in Pink Land again?"   
  
Max shook her head and took a deep breath.   
  
"You okay, hun?" Heather rubbed her back. "You look like you just saw Zack making out with Aunt Kendra."   
  
Max shook her head again, not paying attention to Heather's joke.   
  
"Okay, moving on." Max could feel something in her lap. "Got your mail for you; it just came a while ago. The new guy's a lot faster than the old guy. This one's cuter too."   
  
Without thinking, Max bolted downstairs and out of the front door, hope and adrenaline pumping through her veins.   
  
"Max!" Heather yelled after her, still sitting on Max's bed.   
  
Max ran into the street and looked around hastily for the mailman. Her eyes scanned the street until she saw the blue bag and hat turn the corner.   
  
"Wait!" Max yelled, breaking into a run. The mailman kept walking, totally oblivious to the world around him. "Stop!"   
  
Her bare feet pounded against the rough, warm concrete as she flew down the street to catch up with the man. Her curiosity was killing her. Max could feel him slipping out of her reach, causing her feet to move faster. When she was finally in arm's length of him, she grabbed his shoulder, causing him to turn.   
  
Suddenly, the vision of a chiseled face with blue eyes and glasses wearing that uniform disappeared. In its place was the sight of a thirty-year-old man sporting a soul patch.   
  
"Oh, sorry," she said, her heart sinking. "I thought you were our regular mail guy."   
  
The man smiled and took off his hat, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "It's all right, miss. Bill's on vacation this week, but he'll be back before you know it."   
  
Putting his hat back on, the younger man turned and continued his route.   
  
  
  
Max closed the front door to her house and turned the lock. _Why did you run after him? It wasn't like it could've been Logan anyway. Stupid._ Heather's head appeared from the edge of the balcony from the second level. _Why did I even get my hopes up? Hope is for losers, remember? Logan's gone. I'm never gonna see him again._   
  
"Max, why the heck did you do that?" Heather pressed, worry overruling her.   
  
"Muscle spasm," Max quipped, walking towards the kitchen.   
  
Heather moved away from the banister and walked down the back stairs that lead to the kitchen.   
  
"I doubt that. So do you want to tell me the real reason why you went stalker on the mail guy?"   
  
Max hopped on the counter and bit into an apple. "No," she mumbled, her mouth full of apple.   
  
Heather opened the pantry, grabbed a box of Cheez-Its, and hopped up on the counter next to Max. "Why not?"   
  
"Because the sun's gonna blow up one day, the damn birds are singing, and because Bush was our President for two years. Good enough reason?" Max spat sarcastically, taking another bite of her apple.   
  
"Not really. The sun'll blow up in a couple billion years, and I'm sure it'll take more than one day," Heather said, trying to lighten the mood. "Come on, babe. You can tell me."   
  
"Just leave me alone." Max pushed herself off of the counter and headed back to her room, leaving her sister sitting on the counter, shocked and hurt.   
  
  
  
After about twenty minutes of sulking, Max trudged up to Heather's door. Max didn't know why she was doing this; she was still in a bad mood and she knew, as did Heather, that Max could say or do anything that she would regret while moody. _My period better not be coming,_ she thought to herself, knowing that her "special friend" always made things even worse.   
  
But Max knew that she had to apologize to Heather, bitchy or not. Max knew that her words had cut her sister deeply. Heather was the most loveable and loving in the family; it wasn't easy to hurt her, so when someone did, it was pretty bad. Max knew that this was one of those times.   
  
She stared at the white door that separated her from her sister. Before she could stop herself, her knuckles started to knock on the door. She stood there for a while, waiting for Heather to open the door, but it remained closed. Max knocked again, this time putting her ear against the door.   
  
"Damnit!"   
  
Max could hear Miles Davis blaring in Heather's room. This only meant one thing: Heather was pissed. The hardcore Miles Davis album was only pulled out after catastrophic events: her break up with Jack (her boyfriend of six months), when her best friend Tessa moved to San Francisco, and those few big fights that she had had with the parental units.   
  
"Heather?" Max spoke into the door, hoping her voice would carry over the trumpets. She knocked on the door again, this time slamming her fist into the wooden door. "Heather! Open the door!" Max was about to knock again, but the door flew open.   
  
"Whaddya want?" Heather snapped, her voice on edge.   
  
Max fidgeted with her jeans and looked down at her bare feet. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I was a complete psycho," she said quietly. "Can ya forgive me?" Max looked up at her sister, hoping that Heather would forgive her.   
  
Heather looked off in space for a moment, and then at Max. She nodded. "Yeah, I guess I can forgive you." A smile slid on her face. "This time around."   
  
Max smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. All was good, for now. "Can we talk?" Max said sheepishly. "I've got a lot to talk about."   
  
Heather sidestepped and held her arm out in an "after you" fashion.   
  
  
  
"...and then you walked in with the mail. You know the rest after that," Max concluded, getting her dream out in the open.   
  
"Hmm..." Heather wrote on her steno pad. "I can't imagine Logan in a postal worker outfit," she commented.   
  
Max laughed. "Neither can I." She ran her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath. "So what do you think it means?"   
  
"Besides the fact that you have a thing for the men in blue?" Heather quipped, dodging a pillow being thrown in her direction. "Well, I think the 'Donna Reed' backdrop was just to get your attention. It really represented the unfamiliarity in your life, since we both know that we do not live in the fifties, thank God." Max nodded. "I'm thinking that Logan carrying the catalog means that he's bringing you happiness, since the catalog's what you want. Logan being your mailman may mean that he's closer than you think."   
  
Max looked at Heather confused. "Like, distance wise?"   
  
"Maybe."   
  
Silence lulled over the two: Max deeply reveling over the fact that this could be a sign and Heather reevaluating the dream. Talking about Logan reminded Heather of something.   
  
"Oh, by the way." Heather got off the couch and grabbed Max's laptop off her desk. "I looked over this for you. Manda did too."   
  
Max had forgotten about her paper and suddenly felt dread clam the pit of her stomach. "So how bad was it?" she said, preparing for the worst.   
  
"Not that bad," Heather replied, obviously lying.   
  
"It sucked," Max groaned, burying her face in a pillow. "I'm gonna die."   
  
Heather plopped back down on the couch. "No you're not! You just need some help making it sound... ya know, better. I think you should call Manda."   
  
Max moved her chin so her face was no longer in the pillow. "Do you think she can help?"   
  
"I know she can," Heather stated firmly, trying to make Max feel better. "Here's her number." Heather handed Max a slip of paper.   
  
"Thanks," Max said, jamming it in her pocket. "So why do you think it was bad?"   
  
  
  
"Well, it sounds childish, forced, and extremely immature. You get sidetracked all the time, and you loose your train of thought. The sentences just don't flow and there are a couple of grammatical errors."   
  
"Wow," Max said to herself, "When you said no sugarcoating, you meant no sugarcoating." Max plopped on her bed, shocked at what Manda had said. "Was there at least one itty bitty good thing about it? Like the fact that it's _mostly_ grammatically correct?" Max could hear papers ruffling.   
  
"Lemme see... Oh!" Manda said, causing Max to sigh a little sigh of relief that it wasn't a total lost cause. "I loved the hospital imagery; how you described the room. Very nice."   
  
"Is that all?" Max could barely make out, a pit crawling in the bottom of her stomach.   
  
"Hmm. I like the Rugrats thing, but it doesn't really fit in with what you have."   
  
"But that was my _piece de resistance_!" Max protested.   
  
"It doesn't fit," Manda said, "I think you're going to have to take it out."   
  
Max groaned and lay down on her bed. "What the hell am I going to do then?"   
  
"You really don't want to write this, do you?"   
  
"I hate it," Max grumbled.   
  
"Well..." Manda trailed off, trying to think of something else. "Do you have any other prompts you can choose from, or are you stuck with this one?"   
  
"Mr. P gave us three."   
  
"What are they?"   
  
"Goals, life, summer vacation," Max recited drably, knowing the evil prompts by heart.   
  
"Oh," Manda said optimistically. "Can't you do the summer one? Los Angeles is a pretty exciting place."   
  
Max tensed at the question. "Uh..." Max tried to think of something to say. "It's not something I want to relive."   
  
"Okay," Manda drawled skeptically, sensing the touchiness in Max's voice. "Well, I guess that means you're left with the goals prompt."   
  
"I guess so," Max sighed. "Thanks for your help, Manda."   
  
"Anytime. Oh, Max? Do me a favor?"   
  
"Hm?"   
  
"Let Heather and me read it before you turn it in?"   
  
Max smiled. "Sure."   
  
  
  
"Alright, class. Before I go back to more pressing matters,"   
  
"What, like reading the sports section?" Max muttered under her breath.   
  
"I'd like to extend a chance for me to teach you less this year," Mr. Patrekki said, leaning his back against the edge of his desk. "One of the other teachers has kindly offered to look over any rough drafts that you may have. She owed me some favors."   
  
Max shook her head. _Such a slacker,_ she thought.   
  
"So, if you have anything that resembles writing or something that will be turned in on Friday, pass it up. You can get them back after school, don't worry. But now, I need to see who won the PGA tournament over the weekend."   
  
Max pulled out her goals paper that she had worked on all last night. Sure, some parts were a little lame, but overall, Max thought it was a pretty good paper. She passed it up with another girl's paper. _Didn't Heather and Manda want to read it?_ Max shrugged to herself. _Oh well, it's going bye-bye._   
  
After Mr. Patrekki finished getting all the papers, he muttered to the class to "work on whatever" and returned to his newspaper.   
  
Max sighed contently. She had done it; she had turned the paper in and she had said nothing about Logan. Even though it was one of her goals to find him and tell him how much she loved him, she decided to leave that out of her paper. But it wasn't like she had _lied_ on her paper, she included the fact that she wanted to get a motorcycle license and drive a Ninja, that she wanted a really high class rank, and that she was going to go to sit on top of the Seattle Space Needle one day.   
  
She had sounded like such a regular person when she reread her paper. From reading it, it looked as if she had no pressing problems, no "Summer Lovin' ", and that everything was hunky dory, peachy keen or whatever. She almost sounded like a normal teenager; just trying to get through high school. In the minds' of everyone else, she was just another lowly, unattached freshman who didn't need anyone to make her happy. Yup, she didn't need anyone to lead a perfectly fine life.   
  
  
  
"Relationships. We all need them to live a happy and fulfilling life. It may be a close companionship, a tight circle of friends, or the love that two people share towards each other. No matter what the case, we all need them. Today we'll be concentrating more on the last one: the strong love that two people share for each other," Ms. McClintock stated, causing some sighs of contentment and some of annoyance to appear.   
  
_Oh, damn._   
  
Max hated Health, but this made Max hate the subject even more. _You can do this,_ she told herself _You know that you don't need some guy to make you happy; you've got your friends and the small portion of your family that won't stab you in the back!_   
  
"The divorce rate is getting higher and higher in the United States each year. And do you know why that is?" Ms. McClintock asked the class.   
  
"More fights on Jerry Springer?" a boy offered, making the class laugh.   
  
Ms. McClintock shook her head and laughed with the rest of the class. "That's not exactly what I had in mind, Jack. Anyone else?"   
  
A timid looking girl with owlish glasses raised her hand slowly. Ms. McClintock shook her head to let the girl speak. "Poor communication?" her soft voice carried from the back of the classroom.   
  
"Yes," Ms. McClintock triumphantly, pointing in her direction. "There are lots of reasons why people divorce, but the one that tops the list is poor communication. If you can't tell your boyfriend that you need your space, why marry him? If honesty isn't even a policy in the relationship, marriage is not the next logical step." Ms. McClintock walked around the room, tossing a little hackey sack in her hand. "Successful marriages all depend on the communication process being used to its full effect..."   
  
Leaning her head against the wall, Max let Ms. McClintock's words fly in and out of her head. Max didn't want to hear anything about relationships and successful marriages; she had her full of relationships. Even with Logan lost, she thought of what it would be like if they met again when they were older and got married. Max knew it sounded extremely childish and oh so "Look at me! I'm Joanie and I'm gonna, like, marry my high school sweetheart and have 2.5 kids and a mini-van!", but she didn't care. It made her smile.   
  
She could see the two of them, older and smarter, sitting on their soft sofa in front of a warm fire as snow fell outside their cozy, little cabin in Big Bear. Logan would have his arm wrapped around her shoulder and Max's arms would be wrapped around his waist, her head resting on his chest. They would be spending their first real vacation away from the demanding beck and call of Los Angeles where Logan would be a writer, tired from his second major book tour, and Max would be a columnist, reporting the vibrant LA life to its people. Logan would look down at her and kiss her on the forehead, smiling at her as she twisted her wedding band around with her thumb. Her life would be so good...   
  
A book fell off of someone's desk with a loud slam, causing her dreams of snow and Logan to come to an abrupt end. She straightened in her seat, deciding to pay attention to Ms. McClintock's lesson. This time, anyway.   
  
"There are a lot of things that make marriages work and last a long time. There will be four components of what makes a good marriage on your final exam and on your upcoming test, so I would write these down if I were you."   
  
Ruffling papers and the sounds of pages ripping out of the backs of spirals filled the silence as most struggled to find paper. Max followed suit and rummaged through her backpack, searching for her spiral. She came up empty. _I guess I'll hafta write it on my hand,_ she thought to herself, uncapping her pen and bringing it to her hand. Just then, she left a finger poke her shoulder blade, causing her to turn around.   
  
"Here," a boy with sparkling blue eyes said to her. "It's my last piece."   
  
_He has Logan's eyes..._ Max took the paper and forced a smile. "Thanks."   
  
The boy smiled. "My pleasure."   
  
"Alrighty." Ms. McClintock sat on a barstool. "The first component in having a good marriage is being able to agree on vital issues in the marriage, like who pays the bills, who brings the bacon home..."   
  
  
_"Sweet or spicy?" Logan asked her, turning in his chair to face her.   
  
"What?" Max was confused by the random question.   
  
The two were sitting in a movie theater watching the ads go by before the previews.   
  
"Which do you prefer? Something sweet, or something a little spicy?" He wagged his eyebrows suggestively, making Max laugh.   
  
She pulled a box of Hot Tamales and a bag of all cherry Starburst from her purse and set them in her lap.   
  
"Both."   
  
Logan nodded. "Same."   
  
"Window or aisle?" Max said, popping a Hot Tamale in her mouth.   
  
"Aisle," Logan said, taking one of her cherry Starbursts. "That way I don't have to-"   
  
"- climb over people," the two finished, causing both to laugh.   
  
"Warm or cold weather?"   
  
"Cool," Max replied."You?"   
  
"Same," he said, eyes shining as the theatre dimmed to show the previews.   
  
She leaned over and whispered, "It's good to know we that agree on the more important things."   
  
Logan chuckled and kissed her on the forehead. "The very important things."_   
  
  
  
"...Second is having similar interests. That way, the whole marriage won't be spent bashing heads over where to go or what dining room set to buy. Now let me tell you a story..."   
  
  
_The sea was gently waving goodbye to the shore and Max and Logan walked on the boardwalk over looking the beach. The sand crunched under their shoes and a sea breeze ran its fingers through Max's curly hair and toyed with the bottom of her blue dress. Logan wrapped a hand around her waist as they moved towards the railing at the end of the boardwalk.   
  
"Cold?" he whispered in her ear, making her shiver.   
  
"I'm good," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.   
  
Logan looked out over the boardwalk at the ocean. Remnants of the day's events stayed: an abandoned towel, a small, red shovel sticking out of the ground, but the life that had possessed the beach had left. Only one person walked among the sands of the beach now. The lonely man slowly ambled near the tide, braving the cold water. His clothes were disheveled and worn and his features portrayed that of a heartbroken shell of a man.   
  
"If only Edward Hopper were here," Logan whispered to himself, remembering the loneliness Hopper had painted.   
  
"Yeah," Max said, her eyes on the broken man. "He'd have a ball with this guy."   
  
Logan stared at her, surprised by her comment. "I didn't know you were into art?"   
  
Max looked at Logan and smiled. "You never asked."_   
  
  
"It's best when couples have a somewhat of a similar family background. If they're raised the same way or under the same kind of morals, it's easier to understand and sympathize with your spouse. Take for example..."   
  
  
_"This is your car?" Max asked, astonished by the expensive Nissan Z he was leading her to after watching __Casablanca_ at the Nuart Theatre.   
  
"No, I just thought I'd like to try my hand at hotwiring," Logan quipped, clicking his keys to unlock the doors. He held her door open for her as she laughed. "Of course it's my car," he said lightheartedly.   
  
Logan got in, started the engine, and backed out of the parking space. Soon they were driving down and empty stretch of a Los Angeles freeway.   
  
"Wow," Max said in awe. "This is such a nice car." She ran her hand over her leather seat. "Didn't this cost a fortune?"   
  
"Yeah," Logan said, laughing at the memory of his father signing for the down payment. "But my dad managed to get them to lower the payment a little bit."   
  
Max just looked at the inside of the car, still in shock that anyone without gray hair and a corporate office could have such a nice car. "I still can't believe it," she said after a few minutes of silence. "My father would never buy me a car like this. He'd buy me an old, used piece of crap that'd be missing a fender."   
  
Logan laughed at the thought of Max driving a beaten up Geo or Echo. "I guess that's where we're different."   
  
"Yeah. My father's a crazy 'Be Your Own Boss' kinda guy and your dad sounds like a Suit," she commented.   
  
Logan chuckled and patted her thigh. "It's okay, we can't all have old, stingy, power hungry men as fathers."   
  
"Thank God."   
  
  
"Imagine being on a seesaw by yourself. Would you go up or down?" Most students shook their heads. "Probably not. That's how a marriage is. If you don't have someone there, working with you and balancing the job of being married, well, let's just say it wouldn't be a pretty sight."   
  
  
_"And just as I walk into the room, the whole conversation stops and everyone stares at me!" Logan said, taking another sip of his soda.   
  
Max shook her head and smiled. As she was about to tell him how stupid he was, a high piercing giggle came from behind them.   
  
"Oh, Loogie! I just loved that story!"   
  
"Sara!" Logan gritted his teeth, trying to wipe the bad thoughts about Bennett from his mind. "Nice to-" As he turned to face her, he had to keep from spitting his drink out. Sara was only dressed in a shorter-than-short miniskirt and a bikini top. "-suh, see y-you?"   
  
Sara smiled even wider and flipped one of her blonde pigtails. "It's so good to see you again too! I didn't know you were coming to this party!" Sara saw Max move in front of Logan and scoffed. "But what is she doing here? I thought it was past her bedtime."   
  
"I guess you didn't get the memo, but Logan's gotten over preppy bitchy snobs," Max said coldly. "He's much more into girls with that squishy thing between their ears."   
  
Sara glared at Max but smiled when she directed her next question at Logan. "So Logan," Sara said happily, her pep back in action. "What are you doing later tonight?"   
  
Logan put his drink down on the table and wrapped his arms around Max's waist from behind. "Baby," he said in her ear huskily, loud enough for Sara to hear. "What __are_ we doing tonight?"   
  
Max giggled, his hot breath tickling her ear. "I don't know! The hot tub's starting to get a little boring, don't you think?"   
  
Sara's jaw dropped.   
  
"It's never boring with you around, baby," he said, kissing Max's ear, causing her to giggle even more. "Maybe we should spice it up a little, huh?"   
  
"Definitely!"   
  
"Ugh!" Sara exclaimed, leaving in a huff, muttering to herself as she plowed through a crowd of confused people.   
  
Max and Logan burst out laughing as the drama queen pouted her way out of the room. Logan kissed the tip of her nose and pulled her in closer.   
  
"Thanks, you're my lifesaver," he said gratefully.   
  
"Yeah?" Max said, smiling at his comment. "Well then, what flavor am I?"   
  
A wicked grin grew on Logan's face. "I guess we'll just have to find out, won't we?"   
  
  
A little smile grew on Max's face as she remembered that party. _Sara never knew what hit her._   
  
"The last one that'll be on your test and final will be the most important. Couples have to have a shared confidence about the relationship. If only one person carried the torch for your relationship, it really wouldn't be a relationship, would it?"   
  
Max felt heat rush to her cheeks. _That last day..._   
  
  
_The sky overhead was covered by the clouds as they said their tearful goodbyes. Her parents were standing on the sidewalk by their car while Jonas and Margot, still in their robes, were right outside the house's door. The brokenhearted stood in between the families, trying to ignore the glares the four sent at them.   
  
It had been so perfect at first; a little too perfect. They had fallen in love, and now the Shakespeare of fate had to pull them apart. The two knew that it would have to come to an end eventually, not knowing that it would end faster than they had thought. She had never fallen for someone so wonderful before, making this even harder for her. He was everything she wanted in someone- brains and the brawn. She needed him. He needed her. But she was leaving...   
  
Tears streamed down Max's face as she tried to memorize Logan's face, his smile, his kisses, his smell. But the more she tried, the more the tears came. He wiped them away with the pads of his thumbs and kissed her one last time. She poured her sorrow and her love for him into the kiss, her heart breaking knowing that this would be the last kiss they would ever share again. Ever.   
  
Logan broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers.   
  
"We'll find a way," he whispered softly, his voice choked with emotion.   
  
"We'll never see each other again," Max whispered sadly, more tears slipping off of her face.   
  
"Max," Nicole's voice came coldly from behind them. "Time to go."   
  
"Logan, I-"   
  
"Max!" Nicole barked, impatience edging her voice.   
  
"I love you," Logan said, struggling to stay under control.   
  
"I love you too-"   
  
"MAX!"   
  
Logan put something in her hands and closed her fingers around it. "Don't forget me."   
  
"Never."_   
  
  
Max brushed some stray tears from her eyes, sniffling, and went back to taking notes, trying to get her mind back on track.   
  
The bell rang suddenly, ending Ms. McClintock's notes. "We'll finish tomorrow!" she yelled over the bell and the noises of students cramming books and papers into their bags.   
  
Max quickly shoved the notes and her pen into her bag and started towards Geography.   
  
"Hey!" a voice called from behind her. "Wait up!"   
  
Max ignored the call, knowing the odds of someone calling her were slim, and kept walking.   
  
"Hey! I said wait up!"   
  
Max stopped upon hearing the voice a second time and stopped. The boy from Health appeared at her side.   
  
"You have trouble hearing or something?" he said, shifting the weight of his backpack from one arm to the other as they started walking down the hall.   
  
"No," she said casually. "I just don't expect random people to ask me to wait for them.   
  
"Oh, okay" Well, anyway, my name's Aaron." He stuck out his hand.   
  
Max looked at him oddly and slowly shook his hand. "Max."   
  
He smiled. "Max. Max. That's a cool name for a girl. Stand for anything?"   
  
"Max," she stated with a "No Duh" tone. _Why is this guy so damn friendly?_   
  
"Oh," he said, sounding disappointed that she didn't say anything more.   
  
"Look, is there something you want?" Max asked, trying to find the point in all of this.   
  
Aaron shook his head. "I don't want to give you any trouble. You just look like you need someone to talk to."   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
"Well, you looked kind of sad today at the end of class. I thought you might want someone to talk to about it, whatever it is."   
  
"This some kinda joke?" No one had cared before, so why was someone starting now?   
  
"Of course not! I'd never do a thing like that!"   
  
They continued their walk to the other side of the building in quiet.   
  
"Look," he said, taking a deep breath. "I know this sounds kinda weird-"   
  
"Kinda?" she remarked.   
  
"But you really look like you could use a friend right about now." Max looked away. "What do you say? Meet me over coffee some time?" he asked hopefully.   
  
_He sounds sincere enough,_ she thought to herself. _What the hell? What do I have to loose?._   
  
"Okay," she said hesitantly. "Coffee it is."   
  
A smile grew on his face. "Really?" he asked, his voice sounding hopeful.   
  
Max looked at him and smiled back. "Really."   
  
  
  
Geography went by very slowly. Mr. Finch droned on and on about Africa and its demo-what's-it values, but Max wasn't really listening. She was thinking about this Aaron guy.   
  
_Why's he so interested in me?_ she thought.   
  
_Maybe he's trying to be nice?_ she reasoned with herself.   
  
_Ha!_ her cynical side scoffed. _Like anyone would care about what I've been through!_   
  
_Maybe someone does._ her optimistic side countered.   
  
_Who knows..._ Max thought, rubbing her temples, her head starting to hurt.   
  
The bell finally rang, signifying the end of another boring day at Seattle High School.   
  
_Thank God it's over,_ Max thought to herself, walking out of Geography as people flew by her.   
  
The atmosphere of school after learning ended seemed to be livelier than during regular school hours. People were clumped together in the large hallways, laughing, playing hackey sack, singing, dancing... Max could hardly believe this was the same school she had walked into at seven twenty this morning.   
  
As she walked into the English hall, she could see Mr. Patrekki trying to balance his suitcase and his newspaper in one arm as he tried to lock the door with his free hand.   
  
"Mr. Patrekki!" she shouted down the empty hall, starting to run towards his classroom. "Wait! My paper!"   
  
Mr. Patrekki, praising himself for finally locking the door, turned with a look of disgust on his face. "I've been in my classroom for five minutes for you bums to pick your papers up!" he snapped, obviously ready to leave. "Your papers are inside and I just locked the door!"   
  
"Please, Mr. Patrekki? I really need this paper," she pleaded, knowing that she couldn't wait another day to get her paper back. "Please?"   
  
Mr. Patrekki grumbled under his breath. "All right, all right!"   
  
"Thank you so much," she said, sighing in relief.   
  
He fished his keys out of his pocket and tried to open the door, but his suitcase and paper flew out of his arm and onto the floor. "Get that," he ordered, opening the door for her. "and don't think you're special because I let you get your paper. I don't award slackers."   
  
Max nodded and walked in the classroom. She found a pile of papers with "Free Response" written on a Post-It note. After sifting through the stack, she found hers. Shoving it into her bag, she walked out of the classroom. Mr. Patrekki was outside, trying to put his newspaper back in order.   
  
"Thanks Mr. P!" Max said, running off to find Heather.   
  
As she ran down the hall, Mr. Patrekki looked at her and shook his head. "Kids," he grumbled.   
  
  
  
Rounding a corner, Max stopped and pulled her paper out of her backpack, eager to read what the other teacher had written. As she turned the cover page, she was hit with red marks everywhere. She had put commas in the wrong places, said the wrong things...   
  
"Overall," she read from the top of the page. "this paper had a mediocre voice and bad flow. Either rewrite or try another prompt." Max groaned and crumpled the paper in her hands. _I guess I shoulda listened to Manda._


	7. Let's Kick It Up a Notch, Shall We?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Dark Angel and any other brand names/pop culture icons mentioned in this fic. I do own everyone else.   
  
**Author's Note:** I'm _soooooooo_ sorry this has taken so long! School and all of the other crap I'm doing outside of school has taken over my life, again! I hope these nine pages make up for it! R&R and enjoy!   
  
**Thanks for the reviews!:** opalglacier, Jayme (I thought you were gonna be the 1st to review? ;) ), dleep, phoenix spirit, Mitika, natters, sandy, Cuthien (the html is purdy, isn't it?), Firmament, mackenzie karls, lil-DA, beth (glad you're so forgiving :D ), Gozer, me, Discordia the Goddess of Irony, MRW, Lee Belle, Jenica1, Fudge (You rock! Your review made my day!!) and my girl, RubyStar (BS-ers forever!)! **You guys are so awesome!**   
  
  
**Seven - Let's Kick It Up a Notch, Shall We?**   
  
  
  
"Hello?"   
  
Logan froze. How could he go through this? What was he thinking? Asking a complete stranger for help on a totally personal matter? Coming up with no answers to his questions, he pulled the headset away from his ear and pushed the "off" button on the phone's cradle. Tossing the headset in a heap on his desk, he sighed and rubbed his forehead.   
  
He might have killed the last possible opportunity to have someone help him find Max, but his pride reared its ugly head. He didn't want to pour out his heart and soul to some random person; he didn't want to seem weak and... well, emotional. He'd handle this on his own. Suddenly the phone sprang to life and rang, startling Logan.   
  
"Hello?"   
  
"Is this Logan Cale?" a male voice asked.   
  
"Yes...who's this?"   
  
"Sebastian Ruter."   
  
Logan scrambled on his desk to find the slip of paper he had crumbled up. Smoothing the paper out on his desk, he found the name "Sebastian Ruter" in Sandrine's handwriting. "How did you get this number?" Logan asked, somewhat shocked that Sebastian called him back.   
  
"Caller ID."   
  
"Oh." Logan felt embarrassment slap him across the face.   
  
"Why did you call?"   
  
Logan shifted in his seat, mentally debating on whether or not to tell Sebastian his troubles. After thinking it over for a few seconds, he sighed resignedly. He would tell him. "I'm looking for someone. I thought you could help me."   
  
"And what makes you think I can help you?" Sebastian asked, his voice bristling.   
  
"My friend, Sandrine, told me you could help."   
  
"Sandrine? Do you mean Sandrine Moreau?"   
  
A smile spread on Logan's face. "That's the one."   
  
"Well, then... who are you looking for?"   
  
Logan sighed to himself. How was he going to sum two months up into two minutes? "Well..." he said, hoping that words would come. They didn't. "I...um, well..."   
  
Sebastian cut him off before Logan could ramble any longer. "How about we just meet somewhere and discuss it there?"   
  
Relief flooded Logan's body. "That would be great," he said gratefully.   
  
"Rabb's Coffee House okay? At four?"   
  
Images of Rabb's and their colorful décor popped into Logan's brain. "The one on University?"   
  
"Yeah. That okay?"   
  
"Perfect. Thanks, man."   
  
"Thank me after I find this mystery person," Sebastian laughed.   
  
  
  
_The summer of my seventeenth year was rather uneventful. I was shipped off to the familiar destination of Los Angeles to stay with my stuffy relatives while my parents jetted to the South Pacific. They always claim that they're "vacationing," but my father will usually get called off on business to Asia halfway into their vacation, causing my mother to spend two to three weeks alone. So there I resided in sunny Los Angeles with everything I could want at my fingertips. A surge of power flooded my lungs as I drove down the city streets where I had spent more time on a sidewalk then in the driver's seat. Even with all the life pulsing in the city, the beach and the boardwalks are what have always allured me more. So much mystery lingers on the salty air and in those beachside cafés. I would spend my days wandering the boardwalk for little bits of life and surrounding myself in sand, writing the vibrancy of the beach on paper. It's been a tradition of mine to document what I see there. So whenever the rain flows down in buckets with the dreary, bleak sky as its dance partner, I just pull out my old journals and soak up the life and memories of a brighter place and time. _   
  
  
"Pass it up!" Mrs. Woodman shouted, her voice shattering the silence that had hugged the room.   
  
_What? Pass it up? I have nothing to pass up!_ Logan panicked. He didn't have much, only about two pages or so, and he had to crank out eight more before Friday that unfortunately arrived in two days. He had no idea how he pull it off, let alone make it to the minimum... and now she was asking them to hand it up?   
  
Mrs. Woodman walked up and down the aisles collecting disgruntled students' papers. As she put the papers in a large stack, she looked over them, muttering to herself and marking some things that she saw with her deadly unsheathed pen. Logan felt his body freeze in fear as she slowly moved her away around to his desk.   
  
"Mr. Cale," she greeted as she took his paper from him, stopping to skim over his pen scratchings, making the students behind him even more impatient.   
  
Logan could feel his heart beating faster and faster. He could see her eyes flying over his paper, taking in his words at a lightning fast pace, but it felt painstakingly long to him. Flipping the page, her eyes skimmed over the remaining paragraphs, a calm demeanor on her face, telling him nothing about how bad it really was. Upon finishing the paper, she slammed it onto his desk, her eyes blazing and the demeanor gone.   
  
"I told you to write about her," she said through gritted teeth. "This," she shook his paper in front of his face, "is not about her. This is about another boring boy named Logan in another dimension. If you do not choose to write about her, you choose to fail. Understood?"   
  
Feeling his stomach drop, he slowly nodded. Resuming her walk, Mrs. Woodman left Logan at his desk in shock of his new assignment: Max or fail.   
  
"Which one is more important, Mr. Cale?" Mrs. Woodman asked, moving back up the aisle to her desk, her arms full of papers. "Saving your reputation or saving your grade?"   
  
  
  
Physics moved along slowly, his teacher blabbering on about the properties of matter while cracking stupid tongue-in-cheek jokes for ten year olds. Why hadn't Logan switched out when he'd had the chance?   
  
Sighing to himself, he shoved his books into his locker and grabbed his running shoes; Phys Ed was next. Logan was never a big fan of Phys Ed- he found it to be a poor excuse to force people to work together while overweight "coaches" sat around reading sports magazines and stuffing Krispy Kremes into their disgusting mouths. What was the point of being a coach and preaching about fitness if you were fat?   
  
Each year the class seemed the mimic the year before: they stretched, they ran, they played a "team sport," they sat. He usually despised the monotony of it all, but now he found it strangely comforting. It was the only thing he had that seemed the least bit stable. He knew that he wasn't going to become clinically depressed or have his life drained down the tubes if he lost a game or failed to run enough laps for a quiz grade. The latter would never happen though.   
  
Running seemed to be his new escape. As soon as the overweight coaches bellowed "RUN!", he would fly on the rubber track, off in his own world. When he ran, everything around him just kind of vanished: Mrs. Woodman's ultimatum, finding Max, Bling constantly on his back, his father wanting him to be the "Next Big Capitalist"... all those shitty feelings were gone. The emptiness gnawing at the bottom of this stomach stopped, leaving him be for twenty minutes. Even the other people panting and running on the tracks disappeared, as did the sight of his school a couple of meters away. The only thing that mattered was that he kept running. Running to her.   
  
He would see her as he ran, standing right in front of him or at the opposite end of the track, that adorable scowl bewitching her features and her arms crossed angrily over her chest like when they had first met. He would never really catch up to her; every time he got closer, she seemed to get farther and farther down the track, making him run faster and faster. When the twenty minutes was up and everyone was writhing in pain and agony against the chain fence surrounding the track, Logan was always forced off the track. He never wanted to stop running-as soon as he stopped everything came rushing back to him, slamming into him as if he'd just been hit by a monster truck. It seemed that he always went from Mercury, fast and free, to Atlas in four seconds flat.   
  
Walking into the locker room, he was immediately assaulted by body odors and the faint smell of weed, both making his eyes water. Tobey Stevens had been busted last week for lighting one too many joints in school. Sitting on an empty bench, he slipped off his shoes and changed into his Phys Ed uniform. After tying the last lace of his shoes, he hopped off the bench, feeling a little lighter. The sooner the class stretched, the sooner he would be free to run, wild and oblivious to the world. With that thought in mind, a rare smile crossed his face, and he walked out of the locker room.   
  
As soon as Logan left, Ray Joiner walked to his friend Joe.   
  
"Did you see that guy?" he said, pointing to the empty doorframe.   
  
Joe looked up at him in confusion. "What guy?"   
  
"The guy with the spiky hair and the glasses that just left."   
  
"No..." Joe scratched his head. "He sell X or something?   
  
Ray backhanded his friend's arm. "No, fool! He's the runner guy!"   
  
Joe thought this over for a second. The runner guy... "Oh! You mean the guy that runs so freakin fast?"   
  
"Yeah, you fool!" Ray groaned. "Why else would I call him 'the runner guy'?"   
  
"I dunno..." Joe muttered, feeling stupid for not catching on. "Why the hell does he run so much, anyway?"   
  
"Beats me, man, but whateva the reason, it betta be good."   
  
Joe nodded. "Totally."   
  
  
  
In the heat of the afternnon sun, Logan coule feel tiny beads of sweat starting to form on the back of his neck as he stood at the starting line. His peers, clad in oversized and grubby uniforms, stood around him in clumps, leaving him separated from the rest or the students.   
  
"All right," the heaviest coach, Coach Butts, drawled, doing a strange waddle-pace in front of them. "I'm only gunna say this once- you need a mile and a half to pass. Next week, the stakes get higher." He gave them an evil smile. He raised his flabby arm above his head, a stopwatch in hand. "GO!"   
  
Logan sprang into action and launched down the track, leaving the slugs behind to trod along. The wind ran its fingers though his short hair and brushed his face, caressing him as he got into his zone. Halfway down his first straightaway he saw her. She looked the same as she always did: the pouty look, the scowl and the crossed arms. The grim surroundings of a track and a football field faded, replaced by the boardwalk they had walked on after they had went out to dinner one night. He could hear the waves crashing against the shore, and the poignant smells of sea salt filled his senses. He felt a small smile growing on his face as he rounded the first corner.   
  
_Welcome back, Logan,_ they all seemed to say. _Welcome home._   
  
  
  
Farther back on the track, already panting and sweating buckets, Ray and Joe were struggling to keep up with the rest. Pulling up his oversized shorts, Ray looked ahead and stared at the runner guy. He was already half done with his first lap. Ray elbowed his wheezing friend and pointed.   
  
"Look, man! He's gonna lap us soon!" Ray whined.   
  
Joe squinted his eyes and saw the tall blur getting closer and closer to where the coaches recording laps stood. "Damn! He's gonna make us look bad!"   
  
Ray nodded. "No shit!" Ray turned his head and watched two kids racing after each other. "Hey!" he exclaimed, the light bulb going on in this head. "We should race him, man!"   
  
His friend, still wheezing, shot him an incredulous look. "What are you on? We can't race him!"   
  
Ray rolled his eyes. "No, fool! We _act_ like we're racing him!"   
  
"Then people will think we're winnin'!" Joe realized, the "brilliance" of Ray's plan slowly dawning on him.   
  
"I know," Ray said, his chest puffing up. "I'm just that good."   
  
"Hey!" Joe said, pointing over his shoulder. "Here he comes!"   
  
  
  
Logan breezed through another straightaway, feeling himself run farther down the boardwalk. As he reached another curve, he could see Max farther down the boardwalk, leaning against the railing, her gaze softer as she looked out at the ocean. Running faster down the empty boardwalk to her, he could hear some talk from the real world filter in.   
  
"Ray! He's... going... too... fast!" a voice panted.   
  
"Aw, shut up and keep running!" another voice answered.   
  
Smiling to himself, he surged forward towards Max, leaving the pesky whining in the dust.   
  
  
  
"CALE! Get your scrawny ass over here and stop running!" Coach Butts yelled amidst the mass of kids writhing in the agony of running for twenty minutes.   
  
Logan was on the last straightaway of his eighth lap, feeling the zone around him slowly crumble as he neared the coach. The sounds of the ocean and the smells of the sea were starting to disappear, replaced by the distinct odor of sweat and the rumble of cars speeding down the road adjacent to the track. Logan looked down to see the sight of the sandy boardwalk dissipate under him, leaving him once again with the black rubber of the track. She was gone too as the final strand of his old world broke away from him.   
  
As he walked up to the starting line, the other students got up for a "cool down" lap and the coach approached him.   
  
"Son, I've noticed you've been runnin' a lot more than you have in your past PE years, and I'm proud of ya." Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "What I'm tryin' to say is, I think you'd do real fine on the track team. So, whaddya say?"   
  
His abruptness startled Logan. His man had hated him for three years, and now that the world had gutted him, someone _else_ wanted a piece of him?   
  
Squelching his frustration, he shook his head. "No, thanks," he muttered, walking down the track, trailing behind the crowd.   
  
As he walked away, Coach Butts scratched his head in confusion. What just happened? He'd offered this kid a prime spot on one of the most well-known track teams in Seattle and he said no? _That's some weird kid._   
  
  
  
Logan pulled into the last space near Rabb's Coffee House and turned off his car. His mind raced as he sat there, unable to force himself to move. What if Sebastian couldn't help him? What if he could? Would Max still want to be with him? What if she had moved on? What if he never found her?   
  
Finally he forced himself to open the door, absentmindedly getting out and locking it, and started walking toward Rabb's. Pushing the door open, he was immediately hit with the strong, comforting smell of coffee, but it little to suppress all of the questions he had flying inside of his head. Surveying the activity inside, he felt the time flying outside slow down to a more relaxed pace. A few people were populating the tables strewn about the coffee house, most of them nurturing their coffee as if it was the last thing keeping them sane. Moving deeper into Rabb's towards the back wall, he saw a teenage boy about his age in a wheelchair sitting at a small table, typing away on a laptop. The teen had somewhat shaggy reddish-brown hair that seemed to cover his eyes as he worked, forcing him to brush it out of his eyes every so often. His actions fit the person Sandrine had described... but Logan still wasn't sure.   
  
"Sebastian?" he asked tentatively, stepping a little closer to the booth.   
  
The teen looked up at him, searching Logan's face for some kind of recognition. "Logan Cale?"   
  
Logan smiled and extended his hand. "That's me."   
  
Sebastian shook Logan's hand and gestured him to sit down in the seat across him. Logan had obviously interrupted Sebastian's work when he had come; after Sebastian offered him a seat, Sebastian's eye contact went back to his computer screen. Not bothering to tear his eyes away from the screen, Sebastian mechanically reached for his coffee and brought it to his lips, a brown liquid flowing over the brim and down his throat.   
  
He looked up apologetically at Logan and said, "I have something that I need to wrap up really quickly."   
  
Logan nodded in understanding and gestured to the front counter. "I'll just get some coffee."   
  
Standing near of the counter, looking up at the menu, Logan wondered what Sebastian was working on. _Whatever it is, it must be important,_ he thought to himself. Getting fed up with the plethora of Italian names and different blends of coffee and espressos, he stepped closer to the counter, deciding to stick to a classic: black coffee.   
  
The girl behind the counter turned around and greeted him with a peppy smile. "Hi, I'm Courtney," she chirped. "What can I get you today?"   
  
  
_"Hi, my name is Courtney, what can I get you two today?" she had sprouted happily for someone who had just interrupted one of the best acting moments of his life. _   
  
  
"Uh, a black coffee," he ordered quietly, his mind reeling back down Memory Lane to that café in Los Angeles.   
  
  
_ "How bout some privacy?" Logan muttered, causing laughter to bubble out of Max's throat._   
  
  
"Sir?" Courtney said tentatively to a spacey Logan. "Sir?"   
  
Logan's mind snapped back to reality. "Sorry, what did you say?"   
  
"Your coffee'll be $3.25," she said, a worried look on her face. "Are you okay?"   
  
  
_"Are you two okay?" Courtney asked, holding Max and Logan's coffee with a worried look on her face._   
  
  
He flashed her a quick smile and handed her a five he had pulled out of his wallet. "I'm fine."   
  
Another girl behind the counter handed him his coffee in a bright blue mug. "Thanks."   
  
Logan sipped his coffee as he walked back to the table. Courtney... how odd... When he sat back down, Sebastian had just closed him laptop.   
  
"Sorry," Sebastian apologized. "I just had to wrap something up for a friend's website."   
  
Logan nodded in understanding and took another sip of his coffee.   
  
"So, Sebastian started, tapping his fingers on the lip of his cup. "Who are you looking for?"   
  
Logan put his mug down and cleared his throat nervously._It's now or never._ "I'm looking for a friend..." Sebastian arched an eyebrow at him. "... a girlfriend."   
  
Sebastian opened his laptop and pulled up an empty word document. "Name?"   
  
"Max Guevara. G-U-E-V-A-R-A."   
  
"Age?"   
  
Logan counted back his own age to when he was a freshman. "Fifteen."   
  
"Parent's names?"   
  
Logan bit his lip. What _were_ their names? Max hadn't really talked about her parents much. She'd mentioned a couple of times that her mother was paranoid and that her father was a small-business kind of man, but that was all he knew.   
  
"I have no idea," Logan finally answered.   
  
"Are they divorced?"   
  
"I don't think so." They looked pretty together and equally angry when they took Max away...   
  
"Any siblings?"   
  
"Yeah," Logan chuckled, remembering Heather's introduction. "She's got one older sister, Heather."   
  
"Where did you meet Max?"   
  
"Los Angeles."   
  
"How long were you with her?"   
  
"July and August of this year."   
  
Sebastian's typing suddenly stopped and he looked up at Logan with a bewildered look on his face.   
  
"What?" Logan questioned irritably.   
  
Sebastian shook his head. "Nothing," he said quickly, looking back over the information he'd just gathered.   
  
Soon realizing what Sebastian was getting at, Logan's face fell.   
  
"Where we lived never came up, okay? For the longest time I thought she lived in LA!" he said defensively, his voice rising.   
  
"I said it was nothing," Sebastian said lightly, his eyes laughing.   
  
"Sure..." Logan said, still unconvinced. "She left to go back to wherever she lived in August."   
  
Sebastian's fingers resumed clinking the keys. "Any idea where to?"   
  
Logan shook his head. "No clue."   
  
The clicking stopped again. "Is there anything else?"   
  
"Not that I can think of."   
  
Sebastian cracked his knuckles and took another sip of his coffee. He reread the word document once more before he looked back at Logan.   
  
"Here's what I can do. I can probably find her flight, but I'm not sure I can trace it all the way back to her exact street."   
  
Logan nodded, a smile blossoming on his face. "That's great. Thanks, man."   
  
"Anytime. I'll call you when I find her flight, okay?"   
  
"That'll be great," Logan said, running his fingers through his hair.   
  
Sebastian closed his laptop and started to wheel backwards, away from the table. When he was clear of the table, he tucked his laptop in a bag hooked to his chair and extended his hand in Logan's direction.   
  
"Thanks, Sebastian," Logan said again, shaking the other boy's hand. "This means a lot to me."   
  
Sebastian smiled. "I know. I'll give you a call when I find something."   
  
As Sebastian wheeled away, another "what if" popped into Logan's head.   
  
"Sebastian!" Logan shouted as Sebastian was about to push the door open. Sebastian turned. "What if she had a connecting flight?"   
  
"I'll find her, Logan. Don't worry." With that, Sebastian waved and left the coffee house, leaving Logan alone at the table.   
  
Taking a sip of his coffee, he sat all the way back in the booth, still processing what had just happened. Sebastian's last words kept playing over and over in his mind. _I'll find her..._   
  
With those words hanging in the air, he'd felt something he hadn't felt in a while: comfort.   
  
  
  
"Sandrine!" Logan yelled, walking in from the garage. "I'm home!"   
  
He was answered by the sounds of pots clanging and drawers slamming at first, soon followed by a "_Bonjour, mon cher_!"   
  
Smiling, Logan dropped his backpack on the floor and pushed through the swinging door that led to the kitchen. He was greeted by the sight of Sandrine chopping vegetables like a maniac around lots of pots and pans simmering on the stove.   
  
"Are you intending to feed the whole block?" Logan smirked, causing Sandrine to look up at him and laugh.   
  
"No, Logan, just you and your ego," she joked back, making Logan laugh. "So how was your meeting with Sebastian?"   
  
Just as he was about to answer, Logan's mother walked in from the other swinging door, a coffee cup in one hand and a manuscript in the other.   
  
"Sandrine," she said, waving the manuscript in the air.   
  
"Did I ever mention how much I _hate_ consulting for publishing companies?"   
  
Sandrine chuckled to herself and dropped the cut vegetables into a boiling pot. "_Oui, Madame_, I think you have."   
  
"_Ils sont si bête_!" Elise muttered to herself. She turned to Logan and smiled at him. "Hey, honey."   
  
Logan walked up to Elise and gave her a quick hug. "Hi, Mom."   
  
"How was your day?" Elise asked, walking towards the coffee press.   
  
He shrugged nonchalantly and replied, "Oh, you know, the same ol', same ol'- school, homework, getting asked to be on the track team..."   
  
He grabbed a stray carrot that had stuck to the cutting board and popped it into his mouth with a Cheshire cat smile on his face.   
  
"_Mon cher_!" Sandrine gasped angrily, swatting his hand.   
  
As Elise poured her coffee, she noticed something different about Logan. That little spark that was in his eyes before he left for Los Angeles was back. Elise hadn't seen that kind of confidence in him for a while now and she was glad it'd returned, whatever happened before.   
  
"The track team, huh?" Elise finally said, setting the press back on the table. "I thought you said that the coach yelled at you all of the time."   
  
"He did, " Logan confirmed, leaning his back against the counter. "But I guess he's just really desperate to fill his team."   
  
"Aw, Honey, you don't think that, do you? You've probably earned a spot on that team," Elise coaxed, looking to Sandrine for some backup.   
  
"_C'est vrai_, Mrs. Cale. People just don't get good things handed out to them like bread." She sliced some stands of rosemary and sprinkled it in a pot. "You've earned a good thing."   
  
Logan sighed. "Thanks, ladies, but I already declined."   
  
"_Pourqoui_?"   
  
"Why?"   
  
Both of the women's faces were scribbled with confusion.   
  
Sighing, Logan ran his fingers though his hair, trying to think of a way to tell them something that they would believe, even if it wasn't the truth. "I just don't want to...ya know?" he said feebly, knowing that they would never buy that.   
  
"Is that the real reason, Logan?" Elise asked softly, her look enquiring into him.   
  
Logan looked at his shoes and said nothing, not wanting to tell his mother that he was just so tired of everything and his struggle to find Max. She would never understand.   
  
"Since when did you lose the ability to speak?" Sandrine asked, still bewildered.   
  
Elise's expression suddenly morphed from one of confusion to a more maternal one, her lips pursing before she said anything.   
  
"Honey," she finally said, "I don't know what happened over the summer, or what really goes on at school anymore, but I do know that something's happened. You never used to just turn things down just because. Never." Logan shifted his weight to the other foot, feeling even more uncomfortable. "I know there's a reason why you said no, and you don't really have to share that with us if you don't want to as long as the reason makes sense to you." She put her hands on his cheeks and tilted his head up so he could look at her. "Does it make sense to you?"   
  
Logan gave her a small nod and immediately looked away. "It does," he said softly.   
  
"Okay," Elise smiled, putting a kiss on his forehead.   
  
"Madame," Sandrine interrupted the mother/son moment and pointed to the oven clock. "You have a meeting tonight, _n'est-ce pas_?"   
  
Elise's face fell. "Oh no!" she exclaimed, smacking her palm on her forehead. "I do! And it's all the way in Olympia because of those stupid Olympia writers who just have to have their meetings in their own-"   
  
"Mom," Logan smiled, putting his hands on her shoulders. "It's okay. Go get ready for the meeting," he said rationally.   
  
Elise smiled and stopped ranting. "What would I do without you, Logan?"   
  
Logan shrugged. "Dunno."   
  
Grabbing her mug and manuscript off the counter, she blew him a kiss and hurried out of the kitchen, allowing silence to settle over the kitchen. The only thing that filled the void of conversation was the occasional tapping of a wooden spoon against the innards of a pot.   
  
This time it seemed to be Logan's turn to say something profound. "Is my dad coming home tonight?"   
  
Well, it was as profound as it was going to get at the moment.   
  
"_Non_." Sandrine lifted the lid of another pot and sprinkled parsley inside. "He's in _Genève_ working on a big..." she waved her hand idly, "business deal."   
  
"Sounds like Dad," Logan commented grimly.   
  
"You know your father," she said, turning off the stove. "Work, work, work."   
  
"Yeah, I do."   
  
  
  
"So," Sandrine prompted, grabbing Logan's plate and dishing food onto it. "Was the rest of school good?" She handed his plate back to him, then took her plate and began to serve herself.   
  
"It was okay," Logan answered tersely, shoving a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth.   
  
"Really?" Sandrine said doubtfully, knowing that Logan was hiding something else. "Nothing interesting besides gym class?" she asked again, leaning in closer.   
  
He stopped mid-chew and looked up at Sandrine innocently. "Uh, no?"   
  
Sandrine arched her eyebrow, giving him a look that she didn't buy it. "_Qu'est-ce qu'il y a_?"   
  
Gulping his mashed potatoes, he met her gaze and decided to drop the façade. "My Creative Writing teacher is having us write about our summer vacations."   
  
"And...?"   
  
"And what?" Logan snapped irritably. "I have to tell people-who I know won't care-about her!" His volume rose with each enunciated word. "And, to make it worse, if it's not about her, I FAIL!" Logan slammed fist angrily against the glass table, making the silverware jump.   
  
Sandrine's face remained neutral during his outburst and when he broke his mother's rule of hitting the glass table. She quietly got out of her chair and headed to the pantry. Logan, who still had a little steam coming out of his ears, stabbed some green beans and shoveled them in his mouth, mashing them under his teeth. When Sandrine emerged from the pantry, her composure still cool, Logan could see two Hershey's bars in her hand. Placing them next to a serving dish, she calmly sat down as if nothing had happened.   
  
"We'll eat those after we finish our dinner. Then we'll talk, okay?" she finally said.   
  
"Okay."   
  
  
  
Once the table had been cleared and the Tupperware full of leftovers had been tucked away in the stainless steel fridge, Logan and Sandrine sat back down at the table. She opened her Hershey's bar,broke off one chocolate rectangle, and popped it in her mouth. Logan slowly followed suit, putting some chocolate in his mouth as well.   
  
"_Mon cher_, have you tried to talk to _ton prof_ about your paper?"   
  
He shook his head shamefully, his eyes memorizing the small bubbles in the glass table.   
  
"Well, _mon cher_, how do you plan to write this paper?"   
  
"I don't _have_ a plan; not anymore," Logan finally spoke, fiddling with his chocolate bar wrapper.   
  
"So you're just going to give up and fail?"   
  
Logan toyed with the edge of the colored plastic and the foil that was starting to separate.   
  
"Logan!" Sandrine said, starting to get fed up with his silence. "You can't just give up!"   
  
"Then what am I supposed to do?" Logan yelled. "Lie?"   
  
Sandrine's eyes lit up. "_Bien sûr!_ That's it, _mon cher_!"   
  
Logan rolled the idea around in his head slowly, unsure how it would work. Mrs. Woodman seemed to be pretty all-knowing, but would she be able to pick up on the fact that he was lying?   
  
"I'll give it a try," he said firmly, prompting a smile and a hug from Sandrine.   
  
  
  
The moon had been up for two or three hours when he started writing about Julia, his "summer girlfriend." He had decided to give this girl a different name because it would hit to close to home if he named her Max...and would be a little too strange.   
  
Julia was totally different from Max. Julia was from high society, and her father was one of Jonas's best clients. She'd been fed with a silver spoon since day one. He had met her at one of his uncle's infamous business parties when she had randomly asked him about a painting on the wall of Jonas's sitting room. It was a classic Americana Norman Rockwell, a style and painter in which that Max had never been interested in. They had run into each other again when Logan pulled over to help someone change a tire on a sparkling white Jaguar convertible, a convertible that belonged to her. As he was changing her tire, he asked her to dinner at Chez Mignonne and the rest, as they say, was history. Yep, Julia was nothing like Max.   
  
A sense of control and order came back to him, something he hadn't had in his grasp in a while. It felt invigorating. Sighing happily to himself, he saved the pages he had written so far and sat back in his chair. This was gonna work.   
  
In the midst of his contentment, the phone rang. Logan leaned forward and picked up the cordless phone.   
  
"Hello?" he said happily.   
  
"Logan?" a male voice asked.   
  
"This is he," Logan replied, trying to recognize the voice on the other line.   
  
"It's Sebastian."   
  
"Oh, hey. What's up?" Logan said casually, picking up his empty mug and heading towards the stairs and the kitchen.   
  
"Well, I poked around a bit with some airplane manifestos in some airports in LA and the surrounding area."   
  
Logan walked down stairs and waved to Sandrine as she left. "Yeah," he said distractedly "What'd ya find?"   
  
"I found a flight departing from LAX on August the twelfth with four Guevaras seated in rows thirteen and fourteen."   
  
Logan pushed though the kitchen door and reached the counter, grabbing the coffee press and another chocolate bar. "Well that's great!" He poured himself a full mug. "Where were they going?"   
  
"Seattle."   
  
Logan's mug fell out of his hand and smashed against the pristine kitchen tiles.   
  
"Seattle?" 


End file.
